#still working on the fic but next chapter is taking slightly longer than anticipated because of this snag

[hirazuki]

Hmm.

So, normally when I draw, I put something to play on my one computer screen while I have my references up on the other, as a form of background noise. I find music too distracting and I rarely watch anything with real humans in it, so it's usually an animated series I'm very familiar with -- FMA:B, Inuyasha, certain arcs of Bleach or Naruto, Uchuu Senkan Yamato, Death Note, Winx, W.I.T.C.H., etc. -- so that it's entertainment but not to the point of distraction.

I decided to go with FMA:B while working on this recent batch of commissions, as it has the additional perks of, one, being pretty much the only dub that has my approval (thus being extra less distracting by virtue of my not having to glance at subtitles now and then), and two, I've been toying with finally cosplaying from it this coming year and wanted a quick refresher. I'm not the best at math, true, but the possibility that my hyperfixation would abruptly jump tracks from one fandom to another didn't even occur to me because, come on, it's FMA:B, I've watched it a million times.

... I may have miscalculated 😔

[todorokibois]

{1} - Spring Day

Reincarnation AU - Part of the Spring Day Series

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Possible Smut (In later chapters)

Pairing: Itadori Yuuji X Reader X Ryomen Sukuna

Words: 5,059

A/n: I just recently got into Jujutsu Kaisen but I love it so much already! Ever since I watched episode four and five this little idea has been running around in my mind, and I've seen a few others do an au like this so I decided I'd give it a shot. I’m still learning all the rules and stuff of the world, so please bear with me. Some of the characters may be ooc for the time being, as well as for plot purposes. I hope you enjoy what I have planned, and please do let me know what you think of this. Feedback is always greatly appreciated!

Summary: Being Yuuji’s best friend? Piece of cake. However, you never expected to be the reincarnation of Sukuna’s former lover. - You promised each other forever, but forever came.

Note: The characters are all aged up for this fic, so now they will be in university.

You can still remember the first day you met Itadori Yuuji like it was yesterday. Nothing really eventful happened on that day, but you know that it’s one you’ll never forget, for he’s your best friend and you are his. In fact, having just entered middle school at the time, he was one of the first friends you ever made at your new school. 

He seemed impressed by how unafraid you were of the supernatural, the two of you spouting ghost stories to one another during lunch every day. Each day was a competition to see who could freak the other one out the most with an even gorier horror story every lunch period. So far, your record is thirty to twenty-nine in your favour, with more ties than you can count.

Soon enough, middle school came and went, and then the two of you found out that you were to go to the same high school. Both of you were excited that you would know at least one person, not to mention that that person is your best friend. At least you wouldn’t have to give up your daily routine with him. Needless to say, it came as quite a shock to Yuuji when you stopped coming to school about halfway through your first year.

Even though the two of you continued to text every day since your transfer, things never felt the same to either of you. Every time Yuuji asked what school you transferred to, you’d brush off the question, or give him a fake school name. He knows they’re fake since the one time he wanted to surprise you after school one day by visiting you, but when he went inside and checked the registry, your name wasn’t even close to being listed there.

That was a small rough patch in your relationship. Yuuji was hurt that you would lie to him like that, and it took about a week before you could cheer him up again. He just had to see you in person, that was the only way he would stop moping about. That, and he jokingly said it would be the only way he’d forgive you.

Again, as the two of you were walking around the shopping district, he asked you which high school you transferred to. Well, you couldn’t exactly tell him you transferred to a school that teaches you how to become a jujutsu sorcerer, now could you? So, you gave a vague description of the place, stating that you honestly always forget the name, but it’s hidden somewhere in the mountains surrounding Tokyo. Regardless, he made you promise that he could come visit at some point.

Every day, you miss him, just as he misses you, and every day you wish you could see more of him. Despite the amount of trips you plan together, nothing can replace no longer seeing each other every day. Oh well, at least you still keep in touch.

Yuuji never told you, but it was pure agony for him when you left without a clue as to where you’d gone. The fact that you couldn’t answer him for a few days made him go crazy. When he finally got an answer, it felt as if the world had finally started moving again, because to him, you are his entire world.

He doesn’t exactly know when his platonic feelings towards you turned more romantic, but he knows that they’ve never gone away, no matter how many years have passed. Perhaps it was that time in your second year of middle school when you tricked him into playing shogi with you, a game you had convinced him he could beat you at, only to be severely disappointed. How was he to know you were the best in the year when you had never mentioned it before that day? Or perhaps it was that one day during the summer break before the start of high school when the two of you were running through the park, laughing at each other as the sunlight reflected off of your hair, lighting up your eyes in a way he’d never seen before. Either way, he knows he’s been in love with you for a long time now, and he’d never do anything to jeopardize your friendship. He just hopes that someday, his feelings are returned.

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t get to spend as much time with Yuuji over the break as you wanted to, what with your duties and all. However, you’re hoping you’ll be able to soon. You wanted to see him one last time before he started university, but unfortunately you couldn’t. Weeks passed, and you finally made plans to visit him a few months into the semester, but you had to cancel due to a last minute mission you got thrown on. Little did you know what would happen that night.

Earlier that evening, you had gotten a voicemail from Yuuji, informing you that his grandfather had died. You managed to take a detour long enough to call him back, making sure that he’s okay and letting him know that you’re sorry for his loss. His grandfather was the closest family he had left, so you know that as soon as you’re done with this mission, you’re going to see him. He told you he was fine, but you want to make sure. After all, you know how he can get.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you focus in on the task at hand. Clearing this abandoned building will be easy for you, nothing you haven’t done before. All there are are two level two curses to take care of, piece of cake. You only wish it was located closer to where Yuuji is, that way you could get to him sooner.

It took a few years, but you managed to quickly work your way up to a grade one sorcerer. You’re a very quick learner, and the fact that you already had strong reflexes thanks to always competing with Yuuji helped a great deal. You’re only surprised your mother kept her family secret for so long. However, you’re grateful for how long she kept it secret, because if she had revealed it sooner, you might not have met Yuuji, and you don’t know where you’d be today without him in your life.

With a sigh, you enter the building. Shifting your gaze around, you begin to hunt the curses currently within the vicinity. It doesn’t take you long to find the first one, quickly disposing of it before it even has the chance to retaliate. Locating the second takes a little bit longer than anticipated, but eventually you find it, preparing yourself to take this one down just as you did the first.

“Man, you really are one ugly thing, aren’t you?” You tut, shaking your head.

The curse in question did not seem to like your words, letting out a screech and lunging for you in the next moment. Quickly dodging, you parry the curse’s attack, managing to sever one of its many limbs before jumping back and keeping a bit of distance between the two of you. You’re just about to jump in for another attack when you falter, a sudden wave of specialized curse energy pulsing throughout your entire body.

Taking advantage of your momentary loss of composure, the curse lunges at you. You just manage to block the blunt of the attack, still getting a small scrape on your cheek in the process. You curse.

Another two minutes pass by and you’re finally able to dispose of the second level two. Immediately, the air in the building seems lighter, and you know you’ve cleared all the required curses and purified the space. Breathing a sigh of relief you head towards the exit, ready to be clear of this building once and for all. 

As soon as you step outside, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, signalling that you’re getting a call. Thinking it to be Yuuji, you don’t even bother checking the caller id before answering right away.

“Hello?” You say, just as you hear the door fall shut behind you.

“(Y/n)! So glad you answered on the first ring,” the voice of your personal teacher and trainer, Gojo Satoru answers in a chipper voice. “Listen, I have some news for you.”

“Listen, teach, if you’re just gonna tell me about the mochi you bought today-“

“Ryomen Sukuna has been released,” he cuts you off, and you can only freeze in your tracks as your breath hitches in your throat. “We currently have control of his vessel.”

“What happened?” You ask, steadying yourself with your back against the side of the building you’ve just exited.

“Ah, nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about,” Gojo assures you. “We had it under control.”

“We?” Your brow quirks slightly even though he can’t see it.

“Yeah, Fushiguro and I,” he replies. “Well, it was mainly me, but who’s keeping score?” You can faintly hear grumbling in the background and then a chuckle from Gojo. “Anyways, best return to campus as soon as possible.”

“I can’t,” comes your immediate response.

There’s silence for a moment until, “and why’s that?”

“I have to go visit Yuuji,” you bring a hand up to rub at your temples. This conversation is giving you a headache.

“You mentioned he lives near Sendai, correct?” Gojo inquires.

“That’s correct,” you confirm, “why?”

“The incident was near there, so you can’t come, it’s not safe for you,” he explains.

You scoff, “since when have you ever been concerned for my safety?”

“I’m offended,” he feigns hurt. “As your teacher, I’m always concerned for your safety.”

“Bullshit,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Anyways, that’s all the more reason I should go and see him. Now I have two reasons to make sure he’s okay.”

You hear a deep sigh on the other end before Gojo is speaking once more, “listen, (Y/n), you know I’m not usually one to be a stickler for rules and such, and I hate enforcing things, but I’m going to need you to get back to campus and wait in your dorm until I come get you.”

“But-“

“That’s an order,” his voice is firm, and you know that there’s no arguing with him once he’s made up his mind.

“Fine,” you sigh, pushing yourself off of the wall in order to head to the train station. “Will you at least tell me the name of Sukuna’s vessel?”

“All in due time,” he says, sounding too cheerful for the current events which have just taken place this evening. “See you back at the academy!”

Without another word, the line goes dead and you know he’s ended the call to avoid answering any more of your questions.

Letting out another sigh, you tuck your phone away in your pocket. You sent a quick text to Yuuji beforehand, just explaining that something came up and you’re still thinking of him during this time. You hope you can see him soon.

The ride back to campus is spent thinking about the effects of Sukuna now being released. You know the elders will probably fight to execute whoever the poor idiot is that ingested his finger. Knowing Gojo, he’d fight against whatever the elders decide to do. You’re just hoping that whoever the idiot is that turned out to be Sukuna’s vessel is strong enough to both contain and control him.

Making it back to campus, you immediately head to your room, just as Gojo had instructed you to do. Figuring you have enough time before he comes calling, you take a quick shower, washing off the dirt and grime from the events of this evening. Once done, you change into some comfortable clothes and lay down on your bed, scrolling through your phone as you wait for Gojo to appear.

It’s not until noon the next day when Gojo finally shows up at your door.

“Took you long enough, I’m starving,” you grumble, noticing he’s carrying what looks like two prepackaged lunches in his hands.

“You could have gone out for food, you know,” he chuckles, already moving to sit down in your desk chair.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was told to ‘wait in my room and await further instructions,’” you cross your arms, allowing your door to fall shut as you return to sitting on your bed.

“Details, details,” he waves you off as you grab one of the lunches he hands you. “Anyways, I came to update my favourite student about what’s going on.”

You simply quirk a brow at him as you open your lunch, waiting for him to continue.

“Well, for starters I’ve delayed the inevitable,” he begins, to which you only give him a look. He goes on to explain that the vessel will most likely be joining the other first years in training to become a sorcerer until the proper time comes. “I’ve basically convinced the elders to allow the vessel to consume all of Sukuna’s fingers before being executed.”

“Okay, and?” You stare at him expectantly.

“Please, do hold your applause,” he grins, expression only faltering slightly when you continue to remain silent after a few moments. “Geez, tough crowd. Anyways, I thought you’d be more happy about this.”

“I only feel bad for the poor idiot who got involved in all of this,” you sigh, continuing to place food in your mouth while chewing thoughtfully.

“Oh, he’s an idiot alright,” Gojo chuckles.

“And who exactly is he?” You tilt your head slightly, looking at him expectantly.

Gojo lets out a deliberate yawn while standing up, stretching his arms above his head, “would you look at that? I’m late for a meeting with the principle. Toodles!”

Without another word, he vanishes from your room, only leaving you just as frustrated with him as you were before, with many more unanswered questions building in your mind. It’s just like him to do this to you, too. Always keeping information this important from you until you’re thrust upon a situation where you’re forced to confront the facts of the matter. You just hope that this is another one of his stupid training exercises and not him purposely avoiding telling you straight up who the vessel is. You also hope whoever the vessel is, is someone you don’t know since it’ll probably make it easier when the time comes. Still, knowing Gojo, he probably will come up with a plan to save the poor soul set for execution even after everything is said and done. If the poor boy even lives that long.

Finishing up your lunch, you decide to head towards the principle’s office. You are technically considered a first year in the university courses, so maybe you’ll have a chance to sneak a look at the vessel if you’re lucky. Besides, Gojo did mention something about Fushiguro and you meeting up with the other new first year tomorrow, so you want intel on what’s happening in regards to that.

Just as you raise your hand to knock on the principle’s door Gojo opens it as if he was expecting you. You attempt to sneak a glance past him but to no avail, only causing him to chuckle as he steps into the hallway and shuts the door behind him.

“How can I help you, my dear student?” He smiles, leaning against the now closed door.

“When are we meeting the new girl, and is the vessel accompanying us?” Your questions are direct and straight to the point.

“Ah, yes, Nobara,” Gojo nods. “Unfortunately, you won’t be accompanying us guys to meet up with her tomorrow, you have another mission to attend to.”

“Since when?” You scoff.

“Since now,” he singsongs. “Level one curse spotted at an old primary school. I would take care of it myself, but as you know, I care deeply about every single one of my students so I must be there to meet Nobara on her first day! Besides, you’re the only one I trust to do this assignment right now.”

Any protests you had soon die in your throat at his last statement. Though still ticked off you won’t get to go with them, you understand why he’s chosen you. Besides, this is your job, and you know it will help with your training.

“Fine,” you grumble, “but I still want to meet the new kids.”

“All in due time,” he waves you off with the same words he told you last night. “Now you better get planning before that curse gets too out of hand! I’ll text you the details!”

“Yeah, yeah,” this time it’s your turn to wave him off as you turn around and start walking back to your dorm to grab your stuff, muttering under your breath, “you old croon.”

The offended gasp you hear behind you is enough to drown out the sound of the principle’s door opening once more, two people stepping out to join Gojo in the hallway.

“Who’s that?” Itadori asks Gojo as they watch your retreating form disappear behind a corner.

“One of my best students,” Gojo hums proudly in response.

“Funny, she looks just like my best friend-“

“C’mon, I’ll show you to your dorm!” Gojo cuts him off before he can finish his sentence, leading him down the hallway in the opposite direction to which you disappeared in, Itadori not being able to do much else but follow close behind.

Sure enough, about twenty minutes later Gojo sends you a text with all the details you’ll need to exercise the curse tomorrow at the primary school. You plan to leave early in the morning since it’ll take you at least an hour or two to get to the location, and then another hour or two to get back. You also want to see if you can catch the guys before they leave, see if you can introduce yourself to one of the two newbies at least.

Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t seem like the luck of coincidence is on your side in the morning as you prepare to leave campus. Letting out a small sigh, you make your way to the train station, ready to begin your mission for the day and get it over with as soon as you can. Perhaps you can time things just right so that you get back to campus around the same time that they do. After all, this task should be a walk in the park.

Oh, how wrong you are.

Not only did it take you three hours to arrive to the primary school, but the curse, which was supposed to be one level one turned out to be two level one curses sharing the vicinity. They cornered you and you ended up getting thrown harshly against the wall, causing your whole body to ache all over once you finally managed to exercise the curses. You’re pretty sure you pulled a few muscles in the process, too, and the amount of scrapes and bruises you acquired since the other day has tripled. Damn Gojo.

Limping back to the train station, you check your phone. Speaking of your personal trainer, he’s been keeping you up to date with the newbies all throughout the day, though he keeps referring to the boy as ‘the vessel’. Furrowing your brow, you find it strange how he hasn’t told you the boy’s name yet, only making you believe that it probably is someone you know. There’s still a tiny sliver of you that’s hoping Gojo is just testing your deduction skills, but at this point, that’s probably not the case.

Sitting down in the first free seat you find, you text him back. Almost immediately you get a response, letting you know that the two newbies have just passed their first test and that you should be proud of your fellow students. You play along with his enthusiasm for the time being, being obviously sarcastic in your responses, but Gojo doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seems as if he’s amused by your reactions, only serving to irritate you further.

By the time you get back to campus, you’re drained. All you want to do is take a nice, warm shower, curl up in a ball on your bed and sleep. You don’t even care if you miss meeting the new students. That’s how your day is going so far. Besides, it’s getting late and they don’t seem to be back yet. There’s always tomorrow.

Except, you don’t get to meet them the next day, nor the day after that. It takes a full week before you even cross paths with Nobara, and even still, the meeting seems rushed. Luckily, you manage to properly introduce yourself to her the day after that one, but for some reason, Sukuna’s vessel just keeps eluding you. That, or someone is purposely keeping the two of you apart. It’s not until two weeks after that fateful day has passed that you finally get your answer.

The three first years have been tasked with handling a few curses at a juvenile detention centre while you accompany Gojo on one of his missions at the same time. You’re getting real tired of his antics, every time you ask him about the boy who’s Sukuna’s vessel he answers you either cryptically, or changes the subject. The worst is when he ignores your inquiries all together. You’re hoping to get some information out of him this evening though, otherwise you might just sneak over to ‘see’ Megumi one day and actually go to see his neighbour who just so happens to be the vessel.

Another reason why you’re in a bit of a grumpy mood recently is that Yuuji seems to be distancing himself from you. Your conversations are very dry as of late, and he doesn’t seem to want to tell you what’s going on in his life. There’s even been a few day where you’ve tried to sneak away to go visit him, but each time, Gojo has stopped you in some way or other. You’re convinced he’s hiding something, but you don’t want to accept the reality he’s been presenting to you as of late.

“(Y/n), I need you to focus,” Gojo snaps his fingers in front of your face, successfully startling you back to reality.

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” you blink a few times to clear your head, needing to focus since this is a serious task for the both of you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, the two of you now continuing to move through the labyrinth laid out before you, having yet to stumble upon any one of the four special grade curses you’re supposed to be exercising.

“Just fine,” you sigh before muttering out, “it’s not like I’m going to get answers anyways.”

“Now, now, you don’t know that for sure,” he grins, hands in his pockets as he walks beside you nonchalantly.

“Considering every time I bring up the new guy you avoid the topic, I’d say, yeah,” you peek around the corner before confirming the hallway is clear, turning back to face Gojo who already seems to be looking at you amusedly, “I do know.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet,” he hums.

“There’s not much to go on,” you reply.

“Oh, I believe there’s plenty,”

“Yeah, well, that’s cause you already know everything there is to know about this subject,” you huff.

“Oh, you flatter me so,” he chuckles, only causing you to roll your eyes at him in exasperation.

“Well, I suppose there is one question I have for you, teach,” you start to say, until you finally come across one of the special grade curses. 

The two of you quickly press your backs against the wall, preparing to attack. Gojo gives you the go ahead to attack first, and you do, using his quick distraction of walking out and gaining the curse’s attention to sneak up on it and destroy it. No more than two minutes pass and you’ve succeeded.

“What’s the question?” Gojo calls your attention back to him as you both continue on through the hallway.

“On the day he was released, I felt a sudden wave of specialized curse energy ripple through me, almost as if there had been a part of it dormant that had suddenly been awoken,” you say, turning to look at his face in order to gage his reaction. “Is that normal, considering how far I was from the main site?”

“Hmm,” he brings a hand up to cup his chin in his fingers, contemplating the new information you’ve provided him. He only wishes you would have told him sooner. “Considering the distance and Sukuna’s total power, it’s not that surprising.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. “However, since at the time it was only one-twentieth of his power over that great of a distance, that is very odd. Considering that you know our reputation with strangeness in this trade, this makes it even stranger. Has it happened at any other point in time after that?”

Your brow furrows as you contemplate his question. “Actually, yeah, now that I think about it. I think it was a day or two after the initial release.”

“Huh, interesting,” he hums once more, a slight frown pulling at his lips as he considers what this means. Looks like his original hunch was correct as both these surges you’ve felt correspond with Itadori ingesting one of Sukuna’s fingers.

“What, exactly, is interesting?” You stare at him expectantly.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself with for the time being,” he assures you, just as another one of the special grade curses jumps out at the two of you. In an instant, Gojo has eliminated the threat, neither of you faltering in your steps down the hall.

“You know, sometimes I swear you take the phrase ‘having blind faith’ too seriously,” you let out a long breath.

He laughs at this, “what makes you say that?”

You just raise a brow at him in response, the look on your face enough to convey your thoughts. He laughs once more.

“Nothing wrong with having a little faith in me, you know,” he jokes as you two near the centre of the building where you can feel major curse energy pouring out.

You say nothing, opting to shake your head at him in response as you ready yourselves to enter the main room. Slowly opening the doors, you walk in, the two of you scanning the room for either of the final two curses that have still yet to show themselves. 

All is silent for a few moments until you feel a pang reverberate through you, the familiar feeling of specialized curse energy flowing throughout your whole being. Your eyes widen as this one far exceeded the power of the first two.

“Hey, uh, teach?” Gojo pauses mid-step as he observes you, hearing the uncertainty in your voice. “It just happened again.”

As soon as those words leave your lips, the final two curses you’ve been hunting for pop out of nowhere and attack the both of you. The one closest to you manages to knock you into Gojo, him steadying you as the two curses near the both of you to attack.

“(Y/n), I’m sending you to where the first years are, I have a bad feeling something terrible has happened,” he says lowly in your ear.

“What? Right now?” You don’t even have time to look at him incredulously as you both jump in opposite directions to avoid the attacks of the curses.

“Right now,” he confirms. “Don’t worry about me, I can handle these two clowns.”

The curses growl at him as he says those words, with him managing to split one of them in half in the next moment.

“I wasn’t,” you reply, unamused.

“Well, best hurry, wouldn’t want Sukuna wrecking havoc,” he grins at you and something clicks in your mind.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you growl. “At least tell me the name of his vessel!”

“You already know it,” is the last thing you hear before your vision shifts, you now standing on a path outside in an unfamiliar area.

You mentally curse him as you collect your bearings, noticing Megumi standing across from you, facing towards you as another man stands between the two of you with his back turned to you. You’d recognize that back anywhere, not to mention the hair. Now you’re really mentally cursing your teacher.

You remain still, noticing how Megumi darts his gaze over to you as if to tell you not to move. Assessing the situation, you begin to plot your best course of action as you see drops of blood dripping onto the ground near Sukuna’s feet. A quick scope of the area has your eyes widening slightly, telling yourself to remain calm as you see a heart laying in the grass as if it was tossed carelessly off to the side.

Of course, Sukuna felt your presence before even bothering to turn to look at you. At the moment, he’s more focused on talking to Megumi, then he can deal with this newer secondary presence, no matter how familiar it seems. He can feel the eyes trailing over his back before he even sees them, but your voice has him halting his actions momentarily.

“Damn, Yuuji, I leave you alone for two weeks and you decide to get tattoos?” Your voice is light, playful even, despite the grim situation you know that you’ve been thrust into.

Megumi shoots you a cautious look as you both notice Sukuna tense slightly between the two of you, before standing up straighter and rolling his shoulders once. A chuckle escapes him, causing you and Megumi to share another concerned look between you both before his movements catch your eyes.

Sukuna would recognize that voice anywhere. Oh, how cruel fate can be.

Turning deliberately slow, he faces towards you, eyes roaming over your figure and nearly sending a shiver down your spine until they come to lock with yours. With a smirk on his features, he licks his lips, “(Y/n).”

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 2)

This chapter took me so fucking long but after much struggle I have completed it!

It was supposed to be 3-4k words. It was exactly 6069 pre-editing according to google docs.

You're welcome.

Chapter Title: with your blessing i will go

Chapter Wordcount: 6073

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, discussion of death, non-graphic injury.

AO3

Chapter 1

i know they're losing (companion fic)

Actual fic under the cut:

The next few weeks are miserable, and if Scott tried to claim anything else, he would absolutely be lying to himself. Not that he doesn’t already do that, but he’s not too proud to admit that not seeing Jimmy is torturous. He knows he can’t, he’s firmly placed Jimmy on the off-limits list, but that doesn’t make the self-imposed rule any easier to follow. There’s still a part of him that wants to go running back to Jimmy’s arms, to beg for forgiveness and pray that Jimmy’s warmth is enough to curb the chill in his bones.

Scott shoves that part of him down firmly. He has no time to hesitate or regret, and he will not spend his days pining and sighing over a human. (Or so he tells himself.) He will be the perfect model of an elven king if that’s what it takes to gain his people’s respect, and he will make his parents proud, not that they’re around to see it. He will . Because Scott may not care about what the Council of Elders thinks of him- he hasn’t for twenty years now- but he does care that the people of Rivendell get a leader who cares for their wellbeing. It’s the least he can do, really.

So he takes on the meetings and the paperwork and the aching, gaping hole in his chest with grim determination, ignoring the way his hands always seem to shake a little and he can never quite get warm. It’s fine. Scott is fine. He’s not going to think about golden smiles or warm brown eyes or the look on Jimmy’s face when Scott told him it was over. He’s fine .

Flipping through the stack of official mail he’s received, Scott’s startled when his hand falls on an elegant cream envelope stamped with the crest of the Ocean Empire. How long has this been here? He hurries to get it open, nearly slicing himself on the letter opener in the process.

Out slides an official invitation in neat cursive.

To High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor, Lord King of the Rivendell Empire,

You are cordially invited to a royal ball to be held at the palace of Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs, at 8 pm on the fifth of August.

Formal attire is required.

RSVP as soon as possible.

At the bottom of it, there’s a note in slightly more rushed handwriting.

Smajor- elvenking or not, I will not appreciate it if you mess with Jimmy in any way, shape or form. This ball is to be a peaceful affair, and I will not hesitate to intervene should anything occur.

Lizzie

Scott winces. He...can’t say he doesn’t deserve the warning, any more than he can say that it doesn’t hurt to be warned away from his own husband. Ex-husband, he quickly reminds himself, reaching for stationary to pen a response.

Dear Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs,

He stops, giving it a bit of thought. Would avoiding Jimmy be worth the political consequences of refusing an invitation like this? No, he concedes reluctantly, it wouldn’t. He can always just avoid Jimmy at the ball- Lizzie would probably be happy for it, honestly. She’s been protective over him from the start. Scott puts the pen back to paper.

Luckily, I will be able to attend the ball. It sounds like a wonderful event and I eagerly anticipate it. As for your note, I will avoid antagonizing Jimmy as much as possible. I would hate to sacrifice diplomatic relations between our kingdoms for a petty squabble. Will that be satisfactory?

Sincerely,

High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor

What’s going on between him and Jimmy is far more than a petty squabble, but Lizzie doesn’t need to know that. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s going to run into Jimmy anyways, right?

The day of the ball arrives, and Scott spends far too long choosing an outfit. He’s not vain, not usually, but...Jimmy will be there. You’re not supposed to want to impress him , Scott scolds himself, but that doesn’t stop him from wearing his nicest golden jewelry. The rest of his outfit is far more strategically planned- long skirts to hide how terrible his balance is when he’s near-constantly struggling to get a full breath into his lungs, gloves to keep his dance partners from questioning his cold hands.

The ball is already in full swing by the time he arrives, the trip from Rivendell taking longer than he thought it would. He’s still greeted by the Ocean Queen herself, though, gliding over in her stunning ballgown of blue and green.

“Welcome!” Her smile is bright, warm in a way he almost envies.

Scott dips his head just enough to be respectful but not so much as to truly defer to her. He thinks that’s right, anyways; he hasn’t had to think about that particular part of etiquette lessons in some twenty years. “Thank you, Queen Lizzie. I apologize for my lateness, the trip was a bit harrowing.”

“No problem at all, I just hope you enjoy the ball!” Lizzie’s smile gains a sharper edge. “I appreciated your letter, by the way. Thank you for your promise to keep it civil, King Smajor. Now we just all have to follow through on our words!” She accompanies that bit with a little laugh, but Scott’s not a fool enough to take it as anything but a warning. She doesn’t want trouble at her ball, and who would, really?

“Hopefully we can manage at least that,” he offers wryly, earning another laugh and a bright “Hopefully!”

Scott doesn’t mean to cause trouble at the ball, he really doesn’t. But before he has a chance to even get a look around, Jimmy’s standing in front of him. And oh, this really isn’t how he hoped it’d go.

“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets, swallowing the lump in his throat. Jimmy cleans up nicely- really nicely- but Scott’s eyes keep going to the scar on his throat, the permanent reminder of how fragile and mortal Jimmy really is.

“Elvenking,” Jimmy says. The formality sounds awkward in his bright voice, and Scott wants to kiss the uncertainty right off his face. “Care for a dance?”

He can’t- he should, Scott knows. There would be value to an alliance with Jimmy, and he has no good reason to turn him down. That’s not why he says yes, though. It’s that look in Jimmy’s eyes, the hope poorly disguised by indifference. He’s so optimistic. Scott shouldn't encourage it, but he can’t find it in himself to break that fragile hope just yet.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind,” Scott says finally. He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one; Vilya rests on Jimmy’s finger, still, and it’s a battle to keep the memories of giving Jimmy that ring at bay. He wins that battle, though, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.

Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and Scott knows it. He steps on Scott’s feet, he gets off-rhythm- he’s frankly not made for dancing, much as the way he hums along to the tune is adorable. His hair, which was probably once nicely styled, has already fallen out of place, and his tunic is a little wrinkled. His hands are rough, tough from all the work he does with them, and his face has a tiny bit of mud on it that he must have missed when getting ready. He looks very much like a sweet little swamp boy, out of place in the midst of all the more elegant and powerful rulers.

He’s the most beautiful thing Scott’s ever seen.

Unlike the last time they danced, back in 3rd life where Jimmy leaned on Scott for balance as he tried to learn the complicated steps, this time it’s Scott clinging to Jimmy for stability. He feels bad about how harsh his grip gets, but he can’t afford to show weakness. He has to stay on his feet.

Scott’s silently thankful when the dance ends and he can lead them off the dance floor. He’s exhausted and shaky, and he’s not sure how much longer he can be around Jimmy without breaking down or doing something very stupid.

“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He takes a step back, banishing the lingering emotion of their dance.

A beat of silence, and then.

“Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?” Jimmy demands, earning a ripple of gasps from nearby guests.

“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back, anger rising to fill the gap in his chest.

“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”

Scott swallows down the lump in his throat. “Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I can still be in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy says. He sounds so bitter, so tired. “I know , trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”

“That’s not what I’m do-”

Jimmy cuts him off, a rare occurrence. “Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf! You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”

His chest tightens, and he can barely force the words out. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”

“No you’re-”

It’s Scott’s turn to cut him off. “I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me.” It hurts, but it’s true. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.” Jimmy’s so wonderful, there are bound to be others who see it.

“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy says. It’s almost childish, but his next words still break Scott’s heart. “I want you. ”

“You can’t have me.” Scott is vividly aware of the fact that there are eyes on him, that their little spat has attracted the attention of the rest of the ballroom.

“But why? Why, Scott?” Jimmy’s voice breaks, and the crack in it is damn near enough to make Scott lose his tiny bit of remaining self-control. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.” It sounds like an accusation, and maybe it is. Scott did promise him that, after all, and then he went back on it.

It wasn’t for no reason, though. He needs Jimmy to understand that it was for a reason. “I can’t give you that!” He snaps back, and his hands tremble when they try to form fists by his side. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.” It’s bitter, but it’s true. Scott can’t be enough for anyone, in the end.

“Enough for me? For ME?”Jimmy’s voice rises in outrage. “All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existence once in a while!”

Scott’s voice rises in response. “And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”

“Why can’t you care about me?”

“Why can’t you move on?”

“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.

Scott falls silent, breathing hard as the ballroom goes quiet around them. He spots Lizzie sweeping through the crowd, coming to a stop next to Jimmy.

“Is everything alright, boys?” She’s smiling, but it’s strained, and her eyes promise death if this quarrel was Scott’s fault.

“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” he says, and he tries to gather his composure as he dips his head to her. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.” He doesn’t look at Jimmy.

She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and he only nearly stumbles when he turns to leave.

Distantly, he can hear Jimmy shout after him. “Coward!” The word is harsh, but there’s hurt beneath it. “You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott stumbles away all the quicker.

He keeps composed all the way out the doors and most of the way down the stairs until he’s sure no one can see him from the ballroom. It’s only then that he breaks into a run, lifting up his stupid skirts so he doesn’t fall. One shoe falls off, a twisted parody of a children’s fairy tale, and he doesn’t bother to retrieve it. The prismarine stabs at his exposed foot, but Scott doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he beats his wings, trying to get enough momentum for a good takeoff.

For a few precious moments, he gets off the ground, and then he remembers Jimmy’s face as he left, wingbeats stuttering with the sudden emotion, and tumbles back to the rough prismarine path. It hurts , it does, but it’s nothing on the pain in his chest. Nothing on the words still echoing in his head. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!

Scott lays there for a moment, half-wondering if anyone’s coming after him. It’s unlikely, he knows, given how badly he messed things up. He tells himself that that’s a good thing, that he doesn’t want anyone to come looking. He doesn’t need them. He should be strong.

Before anyone has time to notice or be concerned, he’s forced himself back to his feet, starting the takeoff sequence all over again.

This time, he gets in the air with little difficulty, though he lists to the side as he favors his right wing, which took the brunt of the fall. It’s fine. He’s fine, he doesn’t need help.

If Scott believed in the elven gods anymore, he would thank them for the fact that he gets back to Rivendell at all. There are tears blurring his vision, and every part of his body aches, his chest most of all. His flight is shaky at best, outright dangerous at worst, crashing into trees and rocks and the ground multiple times. Each time, he barely picks himself back up before mobs arrive. Sometimes, he questions if he should at all. He’s as good as dead anyways. And yet, the tiny stubborn part of him that got him through 3rd life won’t let him just lay down and die. For some reason, even though he’s slept enough recently (he thinks, anyways), there are phantoms on him. They sense when their prey is sleep-deprived, Scott knows, and wonders if he’s just weak enough to seem that way to them.

By the time he crash-lands on the mountainside, it’s pushing two in the morning, and Scott is more dead than alive. Not that he hasn’t been for a while now, he thinks, and laughs aloud to himself, bitter.

The night watch give him strange looks, but both elves on guard duty obligingly dip their heads when he stumbles by. He barely musters the energy to nod back.

Finally he makes it back to his house, slamming his door behind him and burying his face in his hands. This is the right thing to do, why does it hurt so much? He already lost Jimmy once, why does it feel like he’s losing him all over again when he never really got him back in the first place?

Someone coughs lightly, breaking through his thoughts. The voice is familiar when they speak- one of his advisors. “Lord Smajor? Any major events we should know of at the ball?”

Cold. Calm. Scott knows this is the way of the elves- their royalty cannot dare be human. “The Codfather’s our enemy and the Ocean Queen probably hates us too.” He doesn’t bother trying to make himself sound calm and collected, pushing off the wall and stalking towards the stairs.

“What?” The advisor’s voice pitches up in shock. “What did you do?”

“None of your business.”

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

“It wasn’t like I was fucking trying to,” He snaps.

A gasp. “Language.”

“Fuck off.”

They hurry after him, making to follow him up the stairs. “Lord Smajor-”

Scott turns to face them, taking in the shock and rage painted across their ancient face. “Leave me be.”

“Do not disrespect your elders,” the advisor scolds. “I remember when you were a child, you always were reckless, but this is a new level of disrespect! Why, Xornoth would never-”

“ Enough ,” he hisses. “Do not talk about my sibling.”

They freeze, a bit of genuine fear creeping onto their face. “My lord-”

“Get out of my house,” Scott snarls.

They wisely obey. Scott slumps against the banister as the surge of adrenaline abates, suddenly exhausted. He’s freezing, he realizes, a bone-deep chill that he doesn’t bother to pretend is from his trip home. Scott’s done lying to himself- he’s in pain, and he’s in love, but then again, those equate to roughly the same thing when all’s said and done. You can’t have heartbreak without love or love without heartbreak. (But oh how he wishes he could.)

Scott doesn’t get out of bed the next day, and no one dares try to force him. Varying members of Rivendell’s Council of Elders make a decent shot at trying to convince him, but all it takes is him fixing them with his dead-eyed stare to make them leave. The people of Rivendell are used to their ruler’s odd sleep schedule by now, brushing it off easily, and the empire itself is mostly functional without him. So instead of getting up and dealing with the corruption or making sure Rivendell’s stores are prepared for winter or any of the things he should be doing, Scott lays there in his own misery and thinks about Jimmy screaming that he’s a coward.

He’s right, that’s the worst part. Scott is a coward. He’s scared of Xornoth and the corruption and never, ever being enough, he’s scared of responsibility and his own mind, he’s scared of fading and dying alone, and- most of all- he’s absolutely terrified of how much he loves Jimmy.

His father warned him about fading, once, back before Scott was expected to carry a crown on his brow and the weight of a nation on his shoulders. He bounced Scott on his knee and told him that elven hearts are fragile, too fragile for how strongly they love. “Don’t fall too deep in love, son,” he said, and the words carried the weight of years of grief. “Don’t care too much about any one person, not if you want to live to be a legend of the ages. Doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, love can be lethal.”

Scott didn’t listen, of course- reckless, rebellious Scott, who never once listened to his elders, went and did the most dangerous thing an elf could do. He fell in love with a human.

And now he’s dying. Surely that gives him a pass to wallow in his own misery for a day or two. He’s been brave for so long, can’t he just rest a few moments? Just...just a few. He’ll just lay here a bit longer.

At that moment, the front door creaks open somewhere below him.

“My lord? Can I come up?” Someone calls from below. Their voice is also familiar- Gilnar. Gilnar’s a good captain of the guard. Dutiful, clever, and far more willing to respect him than most of Rivendell’s high ranking elves.

“If you’ve come to convince me to get up, it won’t work,” Scott calls back.

Gilnar’s head peeks over the railing a moment later. “Nope, not here for that. Just thought I’d check in, y’know?” The Sindarin words sound almost musical in their accent, rolling up and down with a unique sort of rhythm.

“Alright.”

“Are you okay, my lord?”

“No.” He’s done lying. “Leave me be.”

Gilnar shakes their head. “Sorry, my lord, can’t do that.”

“If you’re going to tell me my people need me, don’t waste your breath. I know .” Scott’s voice cracks on the last word, just a little.

“Not that either. But with all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.” They lean against the railing.

“What do you mean by that?”

They cough, a little awkwardly. “The soul-sickness. The fading.”

Scott’s mouth opens and closes, and he sputters. “How-”

“Trainin’ with the royal guard a few weeks back, your hands were freezin’ and your balance was off. You haven’t gotten up at a reasonable hour in weeks, and, well, with all due respect- I know what heartbreak looks like.”

He’s silent for a moment, utterly floored. “What do you mean by giving up?”

“Well, Lauriel and I were talkin’, and….your love’s still alive, isn’t he? The Codfather?”

“How did you-”

Gilnar flashes him a tiny grin. “He’s not subtle, and neither are you. Plus, he has Vilya.”

Deciding to shove that to the back of his mind for now, Scott sighs. “He’s a mortal, Gilnar. I’m not giving up anything that I won’t already lose in sixty years or so.”

“Luthien loved Beren, didn’t she?”

“I am not Luthien. I cannot sing so well that the gods grant me pardon.”

“And Idril loved Tuor.”

“I am not Idril. I cannot bring Jimmy to the Undying Lands.”

“Arwen still loved Aragorn.”

“I am not Arwen. I do not have the choice to give up my immortal life.”

Gilnar’s smile turns sad. “Caranthir still loved Haleth. And Celebrimbor loved Narvi just the same, didn’t he? The doomed love all the more fiercely, my lord.”

“The rest of the elves won’t be happy with me,” Scott points out.

“You think Thingol and Turgon and Elrond were happy when their daughters loved mortals? You think Luthien’s people didn’t scorn Beren at first?”

Scott doesn’t have any retort to that, and Gilnar hops up from their seat on the banister. “Well, I need to get back to my duties, my lord. Good luck with your swamp boy!”

They’re gone as soon as they arrive, and Scott stares up at the ceiling, his thoughts dragging him along a spiral of emotion.

“Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott is a coward. He’s a liar and a coward. Nothing he does will ever be right.

“Don’t fall too deep in love, son.”

Scott did, though. Like the idiot he is, he fell in love with someone the universe didn’t want him to have.

“Caranthir still loved Haleth.”

He did. And he paid for it. Does it matter? Scott thinks that losing Jimmy might be a price worth paying for the joy of loving him.

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

Scott didn’t mean to, but he still messed up and shouted at Jimmy. He’s a failure. Jimmy could do better. He deserves better.

“I don’t want a mortal. I want you .”

Jimmy’s so stupid. Stupid Codfather with his stupid bright eyes and stupid, stupid insistence on not giving up on someone he should never have loved to begin with. Scott loves him so much more than he could ever put into words.

“With all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.”

Jimmy deserves an apology. Scott won’t give up.

(Not on Jimmy, anyways.)

It takes him nearly a month of furious work to make the precious mithril bracelet, refining it over and over again. He picks the flowers and their meanings carefully- love, hope, protection- and the crystals too. Amethysts for protection, carefully traded for filled with any bit of magic he can spare for them. The lettering carved into the underside is yet another layer of blessings and meaning; he does it in Quenya, the Tengwar script, which Scott knows Jimmy can’t read. He has to look up how to write in it after so many years of never so much as looking at elven script, pouring over old books by candlelight. By day, he rules an empire, relying on the rush of adrenaline and motivation to carry him through even on the days when he’s swaying on his feet by the end. By night, he works on a courtship project like none he’s made before until at last, at nearly three in the morning one night, it’s finished.

It’s not the most beautiful it could have been. Scott isn’t one of the great Noldor smiths of old, he’s just an elf in love. His hands are perpetually shaky nowadays, and he has limited time to work on it between every other responsibility in his life. But every centimeter of it is handmade with all the care he could muster, and that has to count for something.

Scott hardly wants to wait to give it to Jimmy, but he forces himself to try and wait for morning. His anxiety doesn’t let him sleep much, exhausted as he is, but he curls up under the covers and stares at the bracelet on his nightstand. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off it, half-convinced it will vanish if he does. Eventually, his eyes slide shut of their own will, carrying him into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up long after the sun's risen, staggering out of bed and throwing on a cloak for the journey to Jimmy’s. The cold that he’s been banishing with the warmth of a forge has returned tenfold, and he’s shivering despite elves normally being resistant to chills. When he takes a glance at himself in the mirror, he finds that his hair is out of place, there’s a streak of ink across his cheek, and the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises. He looks a mess, and he doesn’t care. Jimmy is all that matters now.

The journey’s both long and rough, and his landing in the swamp is more like a frantic swan dive out of the sky. Luckily, though, the ground is soft here, and Scott’s able to pick himself up and hurry for Jimmy’s house, ignoring the stares of a few Codland citizens. He knocks, heart in his throat as he waits for the door to open.

The hinges squeak, and suddenly Jimmy’s standing there, a mix of emotions that Scott doesn’t even want to try and comprehend scattered across his face. He looks a little sleepy despite the fact that it must be near noon, and so very sweet with his hair falling in his face. The sight of him knocks the air right out of Scott’s lungs, and he has to struggle to remember why he’s here again for a long moment as they stare at each other.

“Hi,” Scott says weakly.

“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy sounds outraged, and Scott can’t blame him.

Scott swallows hard. “I came to apologize.” His tired brain scrambles for words, something, anything to convey how truly sorry he is. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps.

“I know.” God, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much to hear the rage in Jimmy’s voice. “I- uh- fuck.” Scott fumbles to get the box he put the bracelet in, holding it out. “I brought a gift as an apology.”

Jimmy’s silent for a long moment, examining the bracelet. Scott barely dares breathe as he turns it over and over in his hands, tracing the flower designs with his fingertips. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.” And, well, isn’t that just the story of his life?

“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says. He sounds genuine.

Scott lets out a breath, letting some of the tension go. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”

“Do the flowers mean something?”

“They do.”

Jimmy doesn’t press for details.

“I-” Scott starts, and then pauses. What does he say? An apology would be a start, maybe. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.” It’s the truth, as wholly as he can bear to give it.

“Is it that- that dire?” Jimmy’s voice shakes a little, and Scott gives a tiny nod.

“This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”

Jimmy goes quiet again. His eyes are still on the bracelet, and Scott can hardly breathe again.

Finally, he can’t take the tension. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am still yours-” he’s always been, really- “if you’ll have me.”

The silence that falls after that is even more stifling than the previous two. Scott doesn’t expect Jimmy to want him back- far from it. He’s putting his heart in Jimmy’s hands, but he doesn’t expect anything other than it shattering on the floor. Maybe Jimmy will be kind enough to let him down gently, but Scott’s fragile enough that it would only take a tiny nudge to break him. And yet he can’t stop the tiny bit of hope that blooms, though it dwindles minute by minute as Jimmy stares and stares. Finally, he opens his mouth to make his apologies again and leave to his frozen, icy empire-

And then there are hands in his hair and lips on his, warm and sudden and bold. Scott gives a little startled gasp, which is swallowed up by Jimmy’s kiss. Their noses knock together and Jimmy’s teeth click against his just a little in their haste, but Scott’s far too overwhelmed by the sudden rush of warmth to care.

When Jimmy finally pulls away, Scott’s left breathless, cheeks warm in a way no part of him has been since Jimmy died in 3rd life.

He barely pulls himself together enough to manage a wry little “So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?”

“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”

Jimmy sounds so startled and offended at the idea that he wouldn’t , Scott’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Just checking.”

Jimmy kisses him again in response, and who’s Scott to protest? No, he’s more than happy to let Jimmy pull him close and kiss away the lingering sorrow. When Jimmy pulls away this time, he’s left dizzy, half caught up in the euphoria of being loved, half terrified that this is only a cruel dream.

By the time Scott collects himself again, Jimmy’s holding out the bracelet to him. “Can you help me put this on?”

Scott can only nod, fumbling with the clasp a little. It’s not complicated, but his hands aren’t steady, and it takes him a moment to get it. Jimmy grabs his hands when he lets go, and he’s so warm that Scott can’t muster the energy to even question why.

“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.

Scott nods again, and he can’t bear to let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.

They talk a lot, Jimmy more than Scott. Scott learns that Jimmy’s been picked on by other rulers (no surprise, but his blood still boils at the thought), and he shares minimal details about what he’s been up to. Jimmy doesn’t need to hear about Scott’s issues, he’s already dealing with enough.

Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.

“I need to get home,” Scott says, though he has to force himself to. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.

“Don’t go! Please.” Jimmy sounds almost afraid, which instantly sets off alarm bells.

“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep,” Scott tells him, very patiently.

“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”

Now the alarm bells are really going off in Scott’s head. He knows when his husband is hiding something serious, and Jimmy’s frantic tone isn’t helping his worry. “No, no. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jimmy claims.

Scott frowns at him lightly. “ Jimmy .”

That’s all it takes. “I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts. He’s blushing a little. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”

Oh, Jimmy . Scott holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Hold on. What was that about a demon?”

“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me. It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!” Jimmy’s voice pitches up with distress, and Scott’s heart aches for him.

“Alright,” he says, as gently as he can manage. “How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.” More like, Aeor can protect them. Scott’s useless, even with Vilya.

Jimmy nods and takes Scott’s hand with a tiny little “Thank you.”

“Always,” Scott murmurs. It comes out softer than he means it to, though it’s the truth. He’ll always do whatever he can to protect Jimmy, which is why he asks “Do you still have the ring I gave you?”

“I do, I just… give me a moment to remember where I put it.”

“Good. It’s important.” Vilya is one of the most important parts of his heritage, actually, and his advisors would pitch a fit if they knew he had given it to a mortal. For once, he can’t bring himself to care what his advisors would think, though. Jimmy is important, more important than any piece of jewelry.

Jimmy follows Scott to Rivendell, and Scott can’t resist a proud smile when Jimmy praises the buildings. He takes Jimmy inside, lets him curl up under the warm covers, his head tucked against Scott’s chest, and it’s only once Jimmy’s asleep that Scott lets himself break. He’s so tired , so utterly exhausted from being brave for so long. Even now that his husband is curled up next to him, warm and solid and real, he can hardly believe that Jimmy actually wanted him back- wanted him at all, really. Scott doesn’t want to move for fear of waking up Jimmy, but luckily for him, he’s good at crying silently. That’s what he does, tears slipping down his face to wet the pillow below. Only the faintest whimper escapes his lips, a tiny broken noise that he’s embarrassed of even in this emotional state. And when another slips out, he buries his face in Jimmy’s hair and forces himself back into silence. He’s not going to cry over the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t , but he’s just so tired of being alone that being with someone else is almost painful in contrast; he’s so cold that the slightest touch of warmth feels burning.

Jimmy shifts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds vaguely affectionate and pulling Scott closer, and Scott nearly chokes from the effort of restraining a sob. Gods, Jimmy . He could die like this, tucked in his husband’s arms, and he doesn’t think he’d regret it.

“I love you,” he whispers into the night. It comes out choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry, Jimmy, I’m so sorry.”

Jimmy mumbles something that sounds a lot like “I love you too”, and that’s what really breaks Scott. It’s a miracle Jimmy doesn’t wake up, really, with Scott’s quiet sobs shaking the mattress. He cries until he’s all out of tears, as silently as he can manage, and only then does he slip into a sound sleep.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Once Upon a Flower Shop

Pairing: Captain Swan

Summary:  When Killian’s flower shop, Jolly Blooms Flower Shop, fails to deliver the bouquet Emma ordered, she pays the establishment a rather angry visit.  Little to either of them know this mix up might just turn into the best thing that ever happened to them.

Rating: G/K

Words: 1520

Other Chapters: (2) (3)

This fic was written for the #love4teamhook event as a way to support Alma, @teamhook while she’s going through a difficult time.  Thanks to @jrob64 for her work in betaing for me!

  Killian Jones cupped the delicate blooms of an orchid in his hand and nodded in satisfaction.  He’d been rather worried about this particular plant.  It had shown signs of distress a week past, and for several days he’d feared  it wouldn’t make it.  He had done his research, separated the diseased plant from its mates and cared for it as tenderly as a parent would their child.

Today was the first day the orchid showed signs of improvement.  Like Killian himself, this orchid was a survivor.

Killian gathered up the plant and placed it back inside the bright, humid greenhouse, and then stepped back behind the counter of his shop Jolly Blooms Flower Shop.  Sometimes it amazed him, the life he now led.  As a young man, he’d longed for adventure, danger.  He’d joined the navy to be close to his brother, and the life they’d led had been fascinating.  He’d loved every minute of it.

Until the moment his brother Liam opted to leave the navy and marry his highschool sweetheart, Elsa.

Suddenly, with his brother no longer at his side, danger and adventure no longer looked nearly as appealing.  Left at a crossroads, he’d taken some time to evaluate what he wanted to do with his life, and in the end, he’d opted for the pursuit of beauty.

There was something so calming and yet rejuvenating about being surrounded day after day by beautiful flowers. Providing a product that brought joy and comfort to his clients was infinitely rewarding.  His was a quiet, peaceful existence.

His introspection was interrupted when his shop door was suddenly, forcefully opened.  He looked up to find himself face to face with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  Her golden hair fell on her shoulders and down her back like a cloud of sunshine.  Her green eyes shone.

Unfortunately, today they seemed to be shining with anger.  So much for his quiet, peaceful existence.

“May...may I help you, love?” he asked, hesitantly as she reached his counter, planted her feet and crossed her arms.

“Yeah, I wanted you to help me yesterday, but apparently asking for a flower shop to deliver flowers was too big of an ask,” she clipped out.

Killian found himself at a loss for words, barely even registering what the vision before him said.  They say when you’ve found your soulmate, your True Love, you just know.  You can feel it.  He’d rather thought that was nonsense, but now...well, now he was beginning to rethink every notion he’d ever had about attraction, romance and even love itself.

“Well?” she exploded, planting her splayed hands on his wooden counter and scowling fiercely at him.  

Killian blinked, shaking his head slightly, willing himself to come back to his senses.  Whatever his attraction might be to this woman, she was a customer, and he must get it together and provide her the customer service that had made him one of the most sought-after small flower shops in the area.

“My apologies,” he said.  “Was there a problem with a flower delivery?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Oh I don’t know.  I ordered a bouquet to be delivered yesterday, and yet still no flowers have arrived.  Seems like a bit of a problem to me!”

Killian frowned.  He’d had several flower orders go out yesterday, and he’d gotten no complaints from his delivery people that they’d been unable to complete their tasks successfully.  “Could I have your name, love?”

“Not your love,” she gritted out.  “Emma Swan.  I ordered a bouquet of snowbells to be delivered to Mary Margaret Nolan.  It was very important that they arrive yesterday on her birthday.”

He remembered the order, because of its unusualness. Few people specifically requested snow bells, and those who did typically wished for them to be an accent in a larger arrangement rather than the sole flower within the arrangement.

Killian typed for a moment on his computer, bringing up the order details.  “According to my records, that bouquet was delivered as requested bright and early yesterday morning.”

“And yet my sister still does not have her bouquet of flowers,” the woman, Emma Swan, said.

Killian peered down at his information once again and groaned.  Will.  He should have known his newest--and most annoying--employee would be at the center of any mix up.

“Scarlet!” he called over his shoulder. 

A moment later the man in question stepped through the back room door and walked up to the two of them.  “Anything I can do for ya boss?”

“There seems to be a mistake with yesterday’s deliveries,” Killian said, willing himself to keep his voice even.  There was just something about Will Scarlet and his care-free and yet somehow insolent style that made Killian wish to throttle him more often than not.

“Nope,” Will said, grinning.  “No problems with yesterday’s deliveries.  Handed the flowers personally to every person on my list.”

“What about the bouquet of snowbells for Mary Margaret Nolan?”

Will tapped on his chin, seemingly deep in thought, and then he brightened.  “I remember her.  Pretty woman, that.  Long, curly, fire-red hair.  Kinda thought about asking her out, but decided that might not be so professional-like.”

“Curly red hair?” Emma Swan bit out.  “Mary Margaret doesn’t have curly red hair.  She has dark brown!  I don’t think she even knows anyone with curly red hair!”

“Did you confirm the name of the recipient?” Killian asked.

“Yep, just like you taught me,” Will said, nodding vigorously.

“And this red-head confirmed that her name was Mary Margaret?” Killian asked.

“Well, I mean she said her name was Merida,” Will conceded, “but I figured hey, that must be a nickname for Mary Margaret or somethin’.”

Killian rubbed at his temples, a pounding headache beginning to set in.  “And you didn’t think to confirm that you had the right address and that this person, with a different name, was the actual intended recipient of your delivery?”

Will shrugged.  “Hey, I don’t ask questions.  I just go where the Google maps lady tells me.”

Killian full-on facepalmed this time before glaring at his unbelievably dense employee.  “Just...just go back to what you were doing.  Later, we’ll have a long, probably rather loud discussion about the proper way to deliver flowers.”

Killian watched the idiot disappear into the backroom, muttering to himself about it being Mrs. Google’s fault and then turned back to face the wrath of the avenging angel before him.

“Miss Swan, my sincerest apologies for this unfortunate mistake,” he said.  “The delivery man at fault will be dealt with, and I will set to work this moment to create a replacement for your sister.”

The remainder of the visit was completed in a matter of moments.  Killian took down his dream woman’s information, apologized profusely, and then assured her yet again that he would personally see to the creation and delivery of the arrangement, that it would be his first priority.

Killian’s reassurances seemed to mollify the woman slightly, though her ire was clearly not entirely ameliorated.  Satisfied that she’d at least accomplished what she’d set out to do, Emma Swan turned and walked briskly out of his shop and out of his life.

It rather amazed Killian what a profound sense of loss he felt as the door closed behind the lovely lady.  He’d only known her for the space of five minutes, for Zeus’s sake, and most of that was spent with her yelling at him.  It made no sense that he’d feel such a deep, elemental pull to her already, and yet the heart wanted what the heart wanted.

Killian grabbed a vase and headed in the direction of his snowbells.  There was no doubt about it; he must find a way to see Emma Swan again.  Slowly, an idea began to take shape within his mind.  It was a bold move, perhaps even risky, but if there’s one thing Liam had instilled in him it was this:  A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.

If he didn’t at least try with Emma Swan, Killian knew he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

 Notes:

--This story is loosely inspired by The Words music video, as you might have picked up.  I’ve never written about florist Killian before, and I decided it was time to change that.

--I’m anticipating 2 more short chapters that I’ll post on each of the next Thursdays.  (The point of this event was to post one shots...but my muse is terrible at following directions, lol.

--Up next: We’ll get some Killian pining (a la the music video), but the bulk of the chapter will be from Emma’s POV.  We’ll find out why she was so angry about her flowers not being delivered, and we’ll see her reaction to Killian putting into action the plan he comes up with at the end of this chapter.

                                                                                     NEXT CHAPTER-->

[retrievablememories]

trust me | kai (m)

title: trust me pairing: kai x black!reader genre: smut, slight angst request: “hello, can i request a kai imagine where he’s a sub and his girlfriend is a domme and he gets jealous about his girlfriend running into one of her exes (could be another idol) lol and she kindly brushes his jealousy off so kai decides to switch roles and dom her you’re a great writer btw 💕” word count: 2.8k warnings: mentions of jealousy, one mention of drinking alcohol, dom!male, sub!female -- role reversal of usual positions, dirty talk, unprotected sex, use of restraints, oral sex (female receiving), orgasm denial a/n: when you like reading your own fic more than you like writing it, but you have to write it in order for it to exist 💀 <<<<<<

When you walk through the apartment door, Kai is already waiting for your arrival after getting home before you. You had to run a couple errands after work, which made it take a bit longer to return than usual. You both were more than ready to see each other again after that time apart, even though it wasn’t long.

“I’m home!” you announce after you get inside. Kai comes to greet you with a kiss, taking your things so you remove your coat. 

“Dinner’s gonna be ready soon,” Kai says. “I already ran a bath for you, so go wash up so we can eat, okay?”

“Thanks, baby.” You touch his face and give him another kiss before heading to the bathroom to freshen up. By the time you get out, the apartment is filled with the smell of good food.

After you’ve both finished the meal and cleaned everything up, you head to the living room with plans to watch some TV. You hope you can find something decent to watch; you flip through the channels, trying to find a good movie that hasn’t already played halfway through.

Kai is still moving around in the kitchen while you’re in the living room, though he’s not far behind you. When he’s done, he comes over to where you’re sitting on the couch and lays his tall body across it, resting his head in your lap. You smile and stroke his hair.

“What did you do today?” Kai asks, taking your hand in his. He strokes his thumb over your knuckles as he waits for your response.

“Oh, it’s kinda funny. When I went to the store today—guess who I ran into?”

Kai raises his eyebrow. “Who?”

“It was Jungkook.”

Kai is silent for a moment, though he can’t ignore the flair of jealousy in his chest. He knows he probably shouldn’t feel this way, because you and the younger man broke up a long time ago and that relationship is just a memory now. Still, he knows that despite your personalities being incompatible, Jungkook still very much loved you back then. He also knows that Jungkook still has lingering feelings for you even now.

“What did he want?” You notice the change in his tone of voice and laugh a little.

“He didn’t want anything, we just happened to be in the same place. He was nice, we talked for a little bit. He has a new girlfriend now, sounds like they’ve been dating for a while. He was out getting some groceries for her.”

“...And that’s it?”

“It wasn’t a grand reunion or anything, he was busy doing his thing and I was doing mine. I just thought it was kinda ironic to see him there.”

“Because he used to do the same for you? Buying all your groceries and running errands for you?”

You take Kai’s face in your hands. “He used to. That’s a closed chapter, remember? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

His expression tells you he isn’t reassured by your words. “Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore to you, but do you even realize that Jungkook still loves you?”

“What are you talking about? I doubt that…” you say, pulling your hands away from Kai. “It’s been almost 2 years since we broke up. You don’t think he’s moved on in that time?”

Kai sighs. “Jimin told me Jungkook got really drunk one night and confessed that he regretted ever breaking up with you. He was really upset about it, too. That happened only 5 months ago. You still think he’s moved on? Just because he’s distracting himself with another girl doesn’t mean anything.”

You’re a little taken aback at that new knowledge, but you’re also irritated that Kai is so unsettled about it. In your eyes, your relationship is secure; worrying about outside parties, regardless of what feelings they do or don’t have, isn’t a thought in your mind. “But—even so, I’m with you now. I’m not interested in any man but you. Why are you so bothered by this? All we did was talk in the store.”

Kai shakes his head and gets up from your lap, and you know he must be genuinely hurt. You wouldn’t have mentioned Jungkook at all if you knew this is how it would turn out. 

Before you can say or do anything to rectify the situation, Kai scoops you off the couch in one movement and throws you over his shoulder. “What the—?!” Everything is upside down, but you can see that he’s taking you down the hall, most likely to your bedroom. “Jongin, what the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer as he enters the room and deposits you on the bed less-than-gently, which is a contrast to how he usually is with you. You sit up in surprise, looking at him for some sort of explanation.

“You’re not taking me seriously,” he says, his voice low as he stands in front of you.

“Not taking you seriously? That’s all I’ve ever done. You know I care about you, I just don’t get why you’re so upset about this!”

“Maybe if you listen to me for once, you’ll get why.” You’re confused over his words until you see the look in his eyes. You realize he’s not referring to your relationship itself, but the fact that you’re the one who always has the upperhand in the bedroom.

“Really? Who do you think you are?” you say laughingly, though your voice has some edge to it too. Kai steps closer, and you have to tilt your head to look up at him from this vantage point. 

“Your boyfriend, your lover. The one who makes you weak. Not him.”

You sigh. “Please, Jongin. He’s not you. He’s never going to be.”

“I know. Because he can’t do for you what I can.” Kai climbs onto the bed with you, pushing you backwards and hovering over your prone form. Your body heats up when he settles himself over you, and though you are not intimidated by him—yet?—you do feel a thrill, an anticipation of what will happen next.

Kai doesn’t kiss your lips immediately, which you would’ve expected in any other situation. Kissing is one of his favorite things about sex, or even just nonsexual affection. Instead, his lips venture to your neck, his mouth opening slightly so he can slide his tongue against the skin. His teeth scrape across your neck; not firm enough to hurt, but more like a warning. Still, it reminds you of a predator mouthing at the jugular of its prey.

You want to say more, but you also want to wait and see what he’ll do. He’s always been your sub, and you’ve never seen a domineering side of him during your sexual activities. Is he just playing around to work you up, or does he really mean what he’s doing right now?

Kai’s hands creep up your sweatshirt, tracing a path across your bare skin. He pulls your sweater up as he does so, exposing your form to him. All the while, he keeps kissing your neck, making your breaths come a little heavier.

A quiet gasp comes from you when he reaches your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and teasing them to hardness. He pulls your sweater further up so he can take one of your nipples into his mouth, which causes you to moan out loud. He circles his tongue around it and does the same for the other, nuzzling his face into your chest.

You bring your hand up to touch Kai’s hair, but he grabs your wrist tightly and holds it away from him. You stare at him, your mouth open slightly. When you try to pull away, his grip doesn’t yield.

Kai raises his head to look at you. “Why don’t we play a game?”

“What kind of game?” you ask, trying to steady your breathing.

“Keep your hands to yourself. I get to touch you, but you can’t touch me. If you do, I’ll cuff you to the bed.”

You pause for a moment, staring into Kai’s shimmering brown eyes. Then you nod, a smirk playing on your lips. “Okay.” You think pretty highly of your self control, so you have confidence you’ll win this game.

After you agree, Kai pulls away from you to strip his shirt off. And, yeah, okay. A little of your confidence wavers when you see his tanned body in front of you like that, but you’re still going to try to keep your word.

He pulls his pants and underwear off, too, and returns to you so he can fully remove your sweater. He picks you up again and moves your body so you’re leaning up against the pillows, and you let him do so without making a move to touch him. Surprisingly, you like the experience of being handled like this—of having to rely on him to move your body how he wants it instead of doing it yourself like you usually would.

Your fingernails draw across the blanket as Kai finally puts his lips on yours. He kisses you deeply, his nose nudging yours. You’re glad to finally feel his lips, and you kiss him back eagerly. 

When he draws away from you, your lips follow his but you’re powerless to stop him from separating from you. He chuckles at that, but he doesn’t appease your desire. Instead he moves further down your body, his mouth ghosting over your stomach and waist. Heat floods between your legs as he pulls your sweatpants off, his eyes locked between your legs as he unveils your lower half.

He dips his head down so he can kiss your pubic mound, and you think he’s going to lick you next, but he travels to your inner thighs. He leaves marks on them with his teeth. He is leisurely about it, stretching the sensation out to get you more aroused for him, but you also feel yourself growing impatient and wanting him to touch you more. He’s so close to where you want him to be, but still too far away.

Finally, he comes back around to slide your panties off, leaving you bare. His thumb presses into your clit, and a shiver goes through your body at the contact on this sensitive part of you. Kai presses forward to kiss you there, then slides his tongue lower to taste the wet that’s dripping out of you.

You try to maintain your cool and grasp the pillows near you, though it is getting a little hard to push back the urge to touch him when he places his mouth over your clit like this. All you can focus on is the wet warmth of his mouth on you, and the way his fingers curve into you. There’s still an element of tenderness to it all, despite him being mad at you, despite him taking the lead this time, which lets you know he really does love you.

Your back arches when Kai slips his tongue inside you to accompany his fingers, his nose nudging your clit, and before you can think about what you’re doing, your hands fly to his hair. 

“No, shit—wait,” you say breathlessly, snatching your hands away as soon as you realize your mistake. Kai ignores your plea and goes to the nightstand, pulling a box out of the drawer. You know that’s the box you use to store your handcuffs in. You watch nervously as Kai takes them out.

The cold ring of metal slips around your wrist, and the next thing you know, your right hand has been cuffed to one of the bedposts.

“Really?!”

“You broke the one rule I set.” Kai slips his fingers under your chin and tilts your head up. “You’re the perfect domme, but you couldn’t follow one little rule?” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a grin. You’re embarrassed about being caught slipping, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. 

His hand leaves your face and goes to your waist. He situates himself between your legs, nudging them a bit wider to accommodate him. “You’ve got one free hand left. Remember what I said, or that one’s getting cuffed too.”

You can only nod, too wound up to speak as his tip pushes against your entrance, slipping inside slightly. You think he’s going to go slowly just like that, but he doesn’t hesitate with thrusting the rest of himself into you.

The way Kai pushes into you makes you gasp and shudder. He seems intent on pulling more sounds out of you as he pulls back out and thrusts in harder, gripping your hips tightly and tugging your lower half as close as possible to his. You can’t even thrust back with how he holds your lower half, essentially fucking you onto his dick. The way he controls your body, leaving you vulnerable to his hard thrusts, causes you to grow wetter underneath him.

He leans closer to you, with his sweat dripping onto your body and his lips almost near enough to kiss, but he’s still a little too distant to reach. “I’m yours, but are you mine?”

“O-of course I am, Jongin.”

“Tell me, then.”

“I…” You go breathless at a perfectly-timed thrust that hits your g-spot, and all that initially comes out is a choked groan. Jongin lets go of one of your hips to slap your thigh in response.

“Say it.” He keeps pushing into your sweet spot, knowing his actions are making it harder for you to respond. He’s taken a liking to teasing you in this way, giving you commands that he knows you can’t quite follow.

“I-I’m yours.” Satisfied with your answer, he grins.

“You need me,” he says, running his hand up your body. He almost doesn’t know where to go next, wanting to touch every part of you but only able to reach so much with one hand. “You need me, and you need my dick. You need the pleasure I give you. Say it.”

You, in contrast to Jongin’s own self-revelation about torturing you, are catching onto the fact that Kai’s praise kink still lives strong even when he’s domming you. “I-I need you, I need everything you give me.” Your thighs shake a little as you edge nearer to your orgasm.

He mouths at your neck again, then shifts his face upward, his breaths puffing against the shell of your ear. He whispers, “You love me.”

Your toes curl as you get ever closer to that peak. Your right arm’s getting tired from being in one position, but you can’t focus on it too much at the moment. “I love y-you.”

“I love you too.” He murmurs this against your lips as he reaches between you to stroke your clit. This move is enough to unravel the tension that’s holding you together, and a full-body shiver runs through you as you meet your climax.

Kai’s groan is low in your ear as he thrusts into you a few more times, searching for his own orgasm. It only takes him another minute or two to find it, and he soon pulls out of you to come on your stomach. He grips his shaft and keeps stroking himself until he’s emptied of everything he has to offer.

The first thing he does afterwards is release your hand from the bedpost. You almost immediately touch his face and neck and shoulders, indulging in everything you were formerly deprived of. His cum is still drying on your stomach, and it feels a bit uncomfortable, but you’re not concerned with that as you brush your thumb over Kai’s plump lips. He watches you all the while, feeling much more relaxed after relieving his distress.

After cleaning you up, Kai curls himself into you, his lips in your hair as you rest your head on your satin pillow. His demeanor is apologetic now as he strokes your back.

“I’m sorry I got so upset,” he says quietly, his voice slightly muffled by your hair. “I just...knowing he still loves you…” His words trail off. Maybe not for lack of things to say, but because he doesn’t want to reopen the wound again.

“Hmm…” You tuck your head further into Kai’s neck, feeling his pulse beating against your lips as you speak. “It’s not a crime to be jealous, but you’ve got to know I’d never let anything jeopardize our relationship.”

He nods and shifts slightly to kiss your forehead. “Never.” He lets the word roll around on his tongue, whispering it a couple more times. “You’re right.”

After a few more beats of silence, you ask, “Do you trust me?” You want to be assured of his answer before either of you goes to sleep tonight.

Kai squeezes you tighter in his arms. “Always.”

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived: Chapter 21: Observations

This is chapter 21 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Ranboo

Word count: 3551

Cw: intrusive thoughts about hurting others, overworking, isolation, food, mentions of burning, tension between characters, arguments

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The ticking of the clock became a constant to Wilbur, in the days that followed. It filled the silence when there was no dialogue between the two. The stacks of books next to him grew, as he tried to sort through them. The information wasn’t very useful for the most part, but there were always more books. More incomplete notes and recounts to look through.

Occasionally he would venture downstairs, to harvest some crops and settle his growling stomach. Once he took some of the remaining blaze rods and made some strength potions that joined their place next to the remaining instant health ones. He placed a finger on the glass bottles of potions, just to make sure they were still there, and then he would return to his seat.

He read whatever he found out loud, perhaps to remind Ghostbur of his presence. To fill the train station with something other than emptiness. He let out a quick breath, whenever the silence was broken by the ticking of the clock, that reminded him to get back to work, instead of letting his mind drift off into prime knows where. Into the void, and to the walls, that he could claw at all he wanted to no avail. 

The ghost spoke less and less as he read, and Wilbur’s hands shook, as he tried to pay attention to the way the arms of the clock moved. The words seemed to flow off the page as he read each one, incomprehensible to him aside from their sound. Information. Work. He needed to do something. Anything.

“Ghostbur, you said you liked writing books?” Wilbur had asked, once his mind had nearly succumbed to the silence.

“Oh, yeah?” Ghostbur had said quietly, a bit of curiosity creeping in. “It helped me remember and understand things better.”

Wilbur had smiled to the best of his ability. “How about we write one! We should keep track of what we know about everything somehow.” he said, finding that the words made more sense than he had originally anticipated, “We could write down what we know about our connection, and eventually figure out how to… Separate us.”

The ghost had gasped, “That’s a great idea!” he said, sounding a little more excited, even if  he still seemed tired.

And so, that was exactly what they’d done. In a chest downstairs, Wilbur had managed to find a dusty old empty book and quill, and had set it down on the nearest table. It dawned upon him that it had been quite a while since he’d written anything at all. Memories of declarations, and lighthearted words of victory, flooded his mind momentarily, until he managed to make sense of the quill’s movements. 

Ghostbur can communicate verbally with me, and I with him. The words seem to be clearer once they are directed at Ghostbur, though it is possible that the connection has simply become clearer over time. In addition to this, Ghostbur can hear the words and sounds of anyone and anything nearby, including muffled versions of them while I am unconscious.

As they wrote down more observations, the ghost seemed a lot more excited by his inclusion in something. By having a project to work on.

Wilbur thought, the self-centered bastard that he was, that perhaps this partially came from himself. That perhaps the ghost’s interest in keeping track of information in a library, or having a plan or something to complete, were some of the remains of Wilbur’s presence. Whichever part of Wilbur’s soul, however faint, that had stayed behind, upon his exit from this world. 

“You should mention that I see you sometimes too!” Ghostbur had chimed in.

Wilbur’s grip tightened around the pen, as he tried his best to remember some of his past interactions with Ghostbur regarding that. “Right…” he said quietly, “When have you seen me, again?”

“First time was right before Phil gave you that gapple, when you were really cold,” Ghostbur began, “Then after Phil left the mansion and you were on the ground shaking a little bit, then that one time with Niki,” Wilbur found his limbs turning heavier at each instance the ghost listed, and Ghostbur’s voice seemed to gain a tint of uncomfortable realization as he spoke as well, “During that conversation with Tommy where he… Got upset, shortly after you were shot, and uh… Under the table in the bunker a few month- days ago.”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, pressing the quill harder against the paper than he intended. “Got it.”

Ghostbur is apparently able to see me when I am experiencing intense emotions or experiences. We are uncertain if this works both ways.

Wasn’t that pathetic? That all those times, Wilbur hadn’t even looked up, or paid attention to his surroundings enough, to catch a certain glimpse of the one he had been speaking to ever since he returned? Did it work when Ghostbur was feeling intense feelings as well? Had he been so dense, as to not even pay attention to that?

Wilbur shook the thoughts off, and added a side note at Ghostbur’s request, detailing how it felt to pet Friend. It made Wilbur smile, ever so slightly, that that was something that was considered of utmost importance. 

Ghostbur feels what I feel physically to a certain degree. It seems to be related to the feeling’s intensity, however the longer I’ve stayed alive, the connection to touch seems to have grown stronger. Once again, we are uncertain if this works two ways.

With shaking hands, he added:

If it does work two ways, water appears to be an exception, as it burns Ghostbur regardless of which world it touches us in, without burning me.

He hardly punctuated the last sentence, before he shut the book, memories of pleas and apologies filling his mind. The addictive feeling of control, that was so incredibly unearned, yet appealing nonetheless. Submerging himself in water, until silence was all he would ever hear, and he would be alone. Alone in his mind, alone with his thoughts, and the ghost would never stop feeling the pain.

He kept his hand on the cover of the book, and his other tightly wrapped around the quill, until it felt too much as if both were burning him.

Instead, Wilbur sought out the bookcases, and the information that wouldn’t make Wilbur’s mind overflow with thoughts of the control he had. Because if Wilbur was always mere moments away from grasping at said control, the least he could do was postpone it, until such would only affect himself. Not that he cared particularly, but he could weave a few fragile threads of something that resembled it. Just for the time being.

And when even that became too much, he would lie down on a mattress, or lay his head down at the table, tossing and turning as he tried to drift into oblivion. The comforting darkness, that seemed more and more inaccessible to him each moment, and all the more tempting each day. He would eventually succeed, and would wake up to read a new time on the clock. Sometimes minutes later, sometimes hours, but always enough for him to hesitantly get up and keep going.

Totems weren’t any good for revivals. Apparently they’d tried using them to get Wilbur back. Nearly finding it in himself to ignore the strange improbable fact that there had been attempts to bring him back at all. Was his revival Dream’s own doing? Or the doing of wishes from others? If it was the latter, why had the reaction he’d gotten been so tense?

It was funny that, despite the attempts to revive him, everyone looked to him as if he brought himself back into the world. As if they didn’t spend hours if not days trying to bring him back. How their plans had changed and shifted constantly, and how the universe didn’t care.

There was also a bit of irony placed in Dream and how he hadn’t given a direct account on any historical events, since before L’Manberg. He found a few from George, but none of them were about Dream himself.

So that was what it had taken to take that perspective away from history, Wilbur had thought, ignoring that anything he might’ve said on the matters himself, had likely been blown up along with the nation in question.

Absent-mindedly, Wilbur had reread the parts of the book on Pandora’s box, about how he could gain access.

Not that anyone would let him. Not that the gist of memories didn’t fill him with dread that wasn’t his own. Not that it wasn’t a last resort. Though he latched onto the information nonetheless.

He was about to flip the page when the familiar echoing whisper filled his mind, “Wilbur?”

His voice was hoarse when he first tried to speak. He cleared his throat before responding once again, “Yeah?”

A hesitance lingered in the back of his mind. It oddly didn’t feel like his though. It was a soft blue contrary to his warm browns and occasional reds. 

“So…” Ghostbur took a deep breath, “Y’know how we aren’t going outside and stuff like that?”

Wilbur nodded, though confusion was portrayed on his face, “Mhm, why do you bring it up?”

“Oh! I- well, I was thinking about us going outside again?” Although it was a suggestion, the tilt at the end made it sound like a confirmation of thought. 

“Why would we do that? There’s enough food in here to last a while.” His eyes flickered across the page, “I would read to you again, but this book is about Dream.”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched as he stayed silent for a moment. “That’s fine. I was just wondering about seeing someone again.” Ghostbur quietly added near the end, “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t you want to get out of limbo?” Wilbur felt his words come off as disinterested with a hint of annoyance, but he frankly didn’t mind.

“I mean- yeah, but that doesn’t have to be our main priority right now. You can still enjoy your life.”

The life that no one wanted to be in. The life without a purpose. Well- he wouldn’t necessarily say that. His goal was to get the ghost out of his mind. Preferably, out of limbo as well.

“My life can be put on hold temporarily.”

Ghostbur hummed in a slight agreement, but it oddly lingered in distaste, “What if I want you to live your life?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Living my life won’t give me information.”

“Interacting with people gives you information.”

“I can’t interact with people when there’s a ghost in my head constantly asking what I’m doing.” 

The moment he said the words, he was about to apologize when Ghostbur sharply spoke, “Maybe you could interact with people if you stopped running away and talked it out.”

A scowl melted onto Wilbur’s face with ease, “You haven’t even spent a day in my shoes so don’t act like you know everything.”

“Well- maybe I would know things if you talked to me more!”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling upset right now. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling pain again.” He mocked Ghostbur’s voice as if he was imitating a small child, “Oh no, what’s that feeling? I have to react to absolutely everything because I’ve got nothing better to do!”

“I-” Ghostbur sharply cut himself off before taking a sharp inhale, “Maybe I don’t have anything better to do! Especially when you keep on throwing yourself directly into danger without even trying to give me a warning.”

Images flashed through Wilbur’s mind to dunk his hand in the cauldron that was only a few long strides away. Screams that echoed through his mind. The pain would be longer for Ghostbur as well since time passes differently in limbo. Just a few quick moments. Just a few seconds of his time and Ghostbur would finally shut up. 

His legs stood up automatically before he forced himself to sit down again. “Maybe it’s hard to give you a warning. Surprise, surprise, I don’t know when someone is going to shoot me!”

“It’s not about knowing when the moment comes! It’s about you putting yourself in dangerous situations that hurts us.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. Prime. Have you ever thought of why I stay in this bunker? I’ve found a place that’s safe and you just keep on complaining about it. We’ve only been here- what a few days?” Wilbur exhaled out of his nose in astonishment, “I’m trying to do something to help the both of us and you’re just whining like a toddler would.” All he had to do was walk to the cauldron. Just a few seconds of his time. It would be so easy. 

Ghostbur’s astonished voice cut through his thoughts, “Whining?” Ghostbur bitterly laughed once, “I’m just offering a suggestion to you, and you’re not even bothering to listen. If anything you’re- you’re the one acting childish!”

“I’m not!” His eyes focused on the cauldron, no longer looking at the air as he usually would when talking to Ghostbur.

“If you really aren’t childish, then go to someone and genuinely apologize!” Wilbur couldn’t even get a word in as Ghostbur continued, “You’ve constantly been running place to place without even thinking how others feel. That includes me! It includes the fact that you don’t tell me what you’re doing and you keep on hurting me with your recklessness!” 

Silence. 

But the silence was oddly different this time. It lingered on Wilbur’s end more than it did Ghostbur’s. He blinked a few times, attempting to pull his thoughts together before they wrapped around the cauldron. It would be so easy to pull a few screams out of Ghostbur. His breath hitched when he imagined pretending to injure himself, just to wash it off with water. The ghost would believe him too. He would believe Wilbur was hurt and willingly let the water be put on him.

Yet, it gave a much different feeling to not warn him. He wanted to hold an ice cube in his hand, explaining it to Ghostbur as he did it. The naive ghost wouldn’t even know what would happen. There would only be the faint burning as the ice cube melted. Even more so if he squeezed it. Sure, Wilbur would feel a bit of pain from the action, but he could always switch hands. He’d hear some new pleas if he did that. More crying if he continued doing it. The ghost would become so incoherent near the end, just begging for it to-

“Wilbur?” A voice made him jump as he looked over to see the source of it. The one and only Ranboo was staring near him, his hands were wrapped around a book he held to his chest. It looked similar to the other books Wilbur had been flipping through, but the cover seemed newer than the other ones. Slightly thinner as well.

“Ah- yes, I suppose that is me,” Wilbur stated.

“I… thought Tubbo didn’t really want anyone down here?” 

Wilbur slowly nodded, “Oh. Yeah, I guess he did say that.”

Ranboo awkwardly bounced on the balls of his feet, “Do you need help leaving?”

Wilbur glanced at the books remaining on the bookshelf, “I’m good.”

Ranboo laughed for a few moments. The sound filling the air rather than joining a joke, “Are you though? This place is a bit funny.” Ranboo quickly added, “I mean, not funny as in a joke kind of funny. But I guess I mean funky in a way, like it’s just sort of weird if you get what I’m saying. When I said funny, I just meant that it was funny the way it messes with your head, not that it’s actually-” Ranboo cut his own rambles off as he appeared uncomfortable, hunching slightly over his book.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

“Yeah, cool.” Ranboo met Wilbur’s eyes for a quick moment, the green one almost mesmerizing Wilbur. “So, is Tubbo asking you to help out?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow before his eyes flickered to the book Ranboo was holding. A look of realization came across Wilbur’s face as he pieced together that Ranboo was probably helping Tubbo with the library. The boy seemed rather reserved, so he supposed that made sense. “Not exactly.” Wilbur continued after a few seconds of the clock next to him ticking, “I just figured I’d stay here a few days.”

Ranboo tilted his head slightly, “You don’t have a house? I thought you ran a nation and all of that stuff.”

Wilbur shrugged, “I don’t know, man. Houses aren’t really my thing.”

Ranboo exhaled sharply in a way that could have been interpreted as a laugh, “So you’ve been sleeping here for how long?”

“I’d say a few days now? Not sure, I haven’t really been keeping track.”

Ranboo nodded, “What do you do for food though? I don’t really see a pantry anywhere around here.” Ranboo inspected his surroundings once more as if a magical kitchen was going to appear right behind him.

“There’s some carrots and melons downstairs. I did see some wheat seeds in one of the chests though. I might start making bread.”

A confused expression came across Ranboo’s face, “Do you know how many rooms our mansion has? You can just go into one of the hundreds and we wouldn't know for weeks.”

Wilbur’s astonishment bounced off of Ranboo’s, “I didn't know I was supposed to break into your home and sleep in a random room?”

Ranboo was speechless for a moment as he starting talking and then cutting himself off before he simply stated, “Or you could have asked?”

Wilbur’s mind went back to Tubbo. The failed comfort as he went downstairs. He shaky arms around Ranboo’s torso as he left. The uncomfortableness that radiated whenever Ranboo was alone with Wilbur. 

Yeah, he’d rather pass on their fake smiles.

“I’m alright.”

Ranboo stayed in silence with him for a moment. It took a few seconds before Ranboo changed the topic, “So you know Michael right?” Wilbur nodded. “Well, we were just inviting some people to our house since we’re throwing a little party for him. Would you like to come?”

Wilbur seemed surprised that he would even get an invitation as Ghostbur quickly chimed in, “Okay, I don’t want to stay quiet anymore. Can we please go? Please, please, please, we’ll get to see everyone again!” Ghostbur’s pleas hit differently this time as they were colored with bright yellow excitement that he hadn’t heard from the ghost in awhile. 

Almost automatically he responded, “Sounds fun, we’ll go.”

“We?”

Embarrassment shot through Wilbur. “I meant I’ll go, my apologies.” He could hardly hear his own words as the back of his neck felt warm and Ghostbur cheered in excitement. 

Ranboo seemed slightly lost in his mind as well, as he quietly mumbled, “Right, yeah…” His face perked up when he added on, “It’s at our house- y’know the whole mansion thingy that you’ve been to a few times- at about noon.”

Wilbur looked to the clock subconsciously as if it was about to turn noon at that moment. He strangely found it was four o’clock in the morning. “Wait, what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

Panic glazed Ranboo’s eyes before he quickly mentioned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Confusion filled Wilbur’s mind. He felt like the living embodiment of a question mark as he asked, “I already told you I don’t have a house. You have one though. That’s why I’m asking why you’re here since we established I’m technically homeless.”

Ranboo nodded, the movements seeming jerky. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Wilbur was about to press more about the topic until he saw Ranboo’s shifting movements along with the raw fear evident on his face. Perhaps that was a side-effect of being a centrist- never explaining yourself or your views properly. Wilbur awkwardly supplemented, “It’s whatever. Thanks for inviting me to the party.”

Ranboo seemed to immediately relax, “No problem.”

“Is it noon as in six hours from now, or noon as in tomorrow?”

Ranboo looked at the clock. “I didn’t even realize it was four in the morning- wow- but yeah, six hours from now. Wait- four plus six is ten and that’s not noon.”

Wilbur felt like an idiot, but in the kind that made him laugh gently at his mistake, “Oh, fuck, you’re right.”

Ranboo let out a short laugh, “Mood.”

Wilbur nodded, “But, yeah that time works for me.” After a short sigh, he realized how exhausted both of them were. The eye bags were present on Ranboo’s face after he looked for a moment. The boy seemed to constantly shift as Wilbur looked away with a yawn.

Ranboo yawned as well, but an enderman vwoop came out instead of the typical human noise. Wilbur wanted to ask why the strange sounds came out of him, but he felt his eyes droop slightly. 

Ranboo noted the energy in the room as he started walking towards downstairs, “Alright, I’m gonna head out.”

“Good night- or rather good morning.”

Ranboo chuckled, “Good morning to you as well, Wilbur.” Ghostbur chuckled along in the back of his mind, seeming much happier than before.

[adenei]

Finding My Way To You - Ch. 12

A/N: Shoutout to @be11atrixthestrange for being an amazing beta! 

Also, I didn’t even realize that my subconscious implanted the charm bracelet idea from @voldemorts-tap-shoes amazing Romione discord secret santa fic. I must give credit where credit is due!

Warning: This chapter is NSFW. VERY NSFW. Proceed with caution!

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A Charming Evening

“I’m back,” Hermione said as she walked through the door. 

Ron opened his eyes and sat up from his position on the couch where he'd fallen asleep. “Hey. Did you have a good time?” He rubbed the sleep away from his eyes as she walked over and sat down next to him.

“I did, yes. It was a bit odd at first, almost the same as when I’d come home from Hogwarts at the end of term. We spent most of the day at their cottage, watching movies, playing games. I helped Mum with dinner. It almost felt like normal again,” Hermione said as she described her day.

“Almost?” Ron questioned.

“Well, yes. We’re in Australia and not England,” Hermione explained.

“Right. Do you think they want to return?” he asked casually.

“I- I think so? Every time I worked up the courage to ask, the conversation turned.” Hermione twisted her hands in her lap. “They invited us to spend the day sightseeing tomorrow. There’s more they want to do around the area with us.” 

“That sounds fun,” Ron said with a reassuring smile.

He saw a look of relief flash across her face. “Maybe I can ask tomorrow. At the very least, we need to talk about how much longer we’re staying, and where. I’m sure the Australian Ministry won’t allow us to stay here indefinitely.” Ron let out a nervous laugh that did not go unnoticed by Hermione. “What?”

He gave a brief shake of his head. “ ‘S funny you mention that,” was all he said.

“Why?” Hermione asked. He could hear the slightest hint of impatience in her voice.

“Well, after you left, the fellytone rang later in the morning. Luckily, I’ve had practice answering and talking into one, since you weren’t around to answer it,” he flashed his lopsided grin at her as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, stop gloating and get on with it,” she said playfully, but there was a tone of nervousness as she was waiting to see who it was.

“Well, Graham Jacobsen was calling to check in on things,” Ron finally explained.

Hermione’s face displayed a look of surprise. “We were supposed to check in with him three days ago! How did we forget?” Hermione shook her head in dismay. “This is so embarrassing! The Australian Ministry has been so kind to give us a place to stay and help us, and here we are completely ignoring them now!”

“Hermione, relax, it’s fine. I explained that we found your parents, and things have been busy since then as you’ve been getting reacquainted. For the record, though, if anyone asks? The information they provided us helped with locating them.”

“Noted,” Hermione said. “So what else did he say?”

“He did ask how long we were planning on staying…” Ron told her.

“And you said?”

“That I needed to talk it over with you and then we would get back to him.”

“And he was okay with that?” Hermione asked before he could finish.

“Yes, Hermione, he said that was fine.”

“Then I really do need to broach the subject with my parents tomorrow,” Hermione concluded.

Ron nodded in relief that Hermione was resolving to bring up the conversation with her parents. He hoped that would make the next part of this conversation go easier. Maybe they’d even avoid a row over it. “There was one more thing Graham mentioned,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh?” Hermione asked.

“A letter came in for me at the Ministry,” he told her.

“A letter? From who? And don’t they use owls here?” Hermione looked confused so explained how Australia handled international post. “Ah, makes sense,” she said nodding her head. “So, I assume you went down to the Ministry to retrieve it?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, nodding to the pile on the table in front of them. She must have been distracted since she hadn’t even noticed it. “You can read them if you want.” 

He knew that even if he did explain it to her, she’d still want to read the letters, so it was probably easier this way. Ron handed her Harry’s letter first. He watched as her eyes raked furiously through Harry’s handwriting. Her face turned slightly pink as she reached the end.

She looked up at him. “Did Kingsley send you a letter, too?” Ron nodded and handed her his letter. 

“Well, Harry sent it with his,” Ron shrugged his shoulders as Hermione took the second parchment from him. 

She seemed to read this one slower, taking care to process Kingsley’s words. He was beginning to wonder if she was going back and reading it several times because she was awfully quiet. The silence was making the anticipation of her reaction much worse. She finally looked up at him, a wide smile plastering her face and her eyes shining with tears. “You’re going to be an Auror!”

“I mean, if I accept, yeah. But I still have to pass the screenings and get through training…”

“Of course you’ll pass! Ron, this is a huge honor! Why aren’t you happier?” Hermione frowned slightly. “Isn’t this what you want?”

“I- yeah, I do. You’re really okay with this?” he admitted cautiously.

Hermione set the parchment down, and much to Ron’s surprise leaned over and kissed him, her arms wrapping around his neck. The suddenness of it all knocked him back against the cushions as his own hands instinctively found her side. He pulled away slightly and looked into her eyes. “As much as I like this, you aren’t avoiding an answer, are you?” he asked.

Hermione smiled guiltily. “I won’t lie and say I’m not nervous about you going into a dangerous career, especially after what we’ve been through. But I also know that it’s a career that will challenge and suit you, and if it makes you happy, then of course I’m going to support you.”

Ron searched her eyes, which shone with sincerity. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Just promise me one thing..” she said as she bit her bottom lip. 

Ron tried to ignore the arousal he felt from it. “Anything,” he choked out, attempting to focus on the conversation.

“Promise you’ll stay safe, and you’ll- you’ll always come home to me,” she whispered.

Despite all of the progress they’d made with their relationship over the last few days, and even the fact that they’d admitted they loved each other, nothing could surpass this moment. If he had any doubts of Hermione’s seriousness about their relationship, they’d all but vanished now. It was clear that she was just as afraid of losing him as he was of losing her, and that told him everything he needed to know. 

“I will. I promise, I will,” he was barely able to say it before his lips found hers again. 

There was a new desperation in this kiss, completely unlike their first in the Room of Requirement, or even their second where they finally understood their feelings were mutual. His desire and need to show her just how much she meant to him was prevalent in his mind as he deepened their kiss.

Hermione was straddling his lap as he felt her fingers in his hair. He couldn’t hide his growing erection from her in their current position. As her tongue invaded his mouth, he sucked hard on it, which caused a faint moan to escape her throat. Ron lost all his logical senses and knew he needed to get them to the bedroom where they’d both be more comfortable.

He shifted his arms to hold her as he lifted both of them up and he got to his feet. She wrapped her legs around him in much the same fashion of the previous day as he managed to transport them into the bedroom. Hermione tugged at his shirt as she kicked off her shoes, and Ron helped her by sliding it over his head. He almost didn’t notice her beginning to unbutton her own blouse as his shirt was tossed to the floor. 

His lips found hers as his hands replaced the job hers had started. He fumbled a bit with the bottom buttons as he kissed her, but once the last one was free, his hands gingerly slid the fabric off her shoulders. Ron pulled away to look at her. Sure, it was similar to yesterday, but there was something different between Hermione wearing a bikini and seeing her in her undergarments. It was the same amount of skin she was revealing, yet this felt so much more sensual.

The soft glow of the lamp illuminated her soft skin as he tossed her blouse aside, revealing a light pink, lacy bra that pushed up her breasts in just the right way to make them more pronounced. “Fuck, Hermione,” he said breathily. 

“Is it too much?” she asked nervously.

“No, it’s perfect. You’re perfect,” he said before his lips met her skin. 

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then trailed kisses down to her neck. She gasped as he felt her head tilt back. Her hands reached for the button of his trousers, as she worked to pull them down. He aided her efforts by kicking them off when they got low enough, leaving him in just his pants, which were much more plain than her fancy set.

Ron let his hands wander up to her breasts, where he felt her warm skin over the fabric. He only stopped to help her as she undid her own jeans and was trying to pull them down. He saw that her knickers matched her bra, immediately realizing she’d done this on purpose. How had he not noticed what she’d grabbed that morning? Oh, right, she was distracting me in just a towel. Merlin, she was going to be the death of him.

And now, here they were again. Except this time, there was a look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. Of all the times he’d studied her face, he could confidently describe every little nuance, but this...this was different somehow. Ron didn’t realize he was staring at her until he felt Hermione’s hand gently push his head back down to her neck, where he eagerly picked up where he left off.

His hands reached down to cup her bum before planting them on either side of her to hold up his weight. He warily moved down further to the curves of her breasts, relishing in how they felt against his lips and face for the first time. She began to squirm underneath him, and Ron stopped briefly to make sure it was okay. 

“You can take this off if you want,” she said, motioning to her bra. 

“Are- are you sure?” he asked. 

Hermione nodded as she raised her hips into a bridge position to give him access to the clasp. Ron snaked his arm around her and fumbled with it. She adjusted, sitting up slightly to give him a better angle. He gave in and involved both his hands. It wasn’t like he was seasoned with unclasping bras, but he made a mental note to level up to one hand eventually.

He felt the clasp break free and his hands traveled up her back and then down her shoulders, pushing the straps as he went. Ron thought he was prepared for the fabric to fall away, but when it did, he felt his breath hitch in his throat. He was speechless at the sight of her. 

She blushed as she lay there, still propped up on her elbows, baring herself for him to see for the first time. “I- I’m sorry their rather small and not much to-”

“They're perfect.” Ron found his voice. “You’re perfect.” 

He leaned in and kissed her, feeling her bare chest against his for the first time. He pressed his arousal against her inner thigh, allowing her to feel how much he wanted her.

“R-Ron,” she heard him say against his lips. “I- I want to-” 

He looked at her seriously. Bloody hell, did she want to- “You want to what, Hermione?”

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” she said.

“You want to…” Ron wanted to say it, yet couldn’t bring himself to, just in case they weren’t thinking the same thing.

“..Go all the way, have sex, make love, whatever you want to call it.”

“Hermione,” Ron started to say. He needed to be sure.

“I’m serious, Ron. Haven’t we waited long enough?” Ron simply stared at her. Just last night he told himself he’d be willing to wait as long as she wanted, and a day later, she was expressing she was ready. “Unless you don’t want to..”

Her last words brought him back to her. “No! I do, Hermione. Bloody hell, of course I do! I- Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she whispered, tears were threatening in her eyes from the emotion of it all. “I’ve never been more sure.”

“Right, Okay, then.” 

He leaned down to kiss her tenderly. Ron was determined to make this special for her. For both of them. He didn’t want it to feel abrupt, so he worked their way back into it, relishing in the feel of her against him. Eventually his fingers hooked around her knickers, and he felt her nod against his mouth as he pulled them down to her ankles. His hands trailed back up her thighs as he hesitantly felt the warmth of her center. She was hot and wet and clearly ready for him. It was still hard to believe he made her feel that way.

She moaned at his touch as he felt her hands move to do the same with his pants, freeing his length, and revealing himself fully to her.

“C-can I?” She asked as she hesitantly reached down to grip him for the first time. 

“Yeah,” he said against the crook of her neck. When her hand wrapped around him, he couldn’t control the string of expletives that escaped his mouth. “...Fuck, bloody hell, Hermione,” he moaned into her ear. “If you keep doing that I’m gonna-”

She let go. “Ch-Charms,” she said as Ron swore again. 

He reluctantly lifted himself off of her to dig around in his trousers for his wand. After pointing the wand toward himself and then at her, he looked at her again. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Ron. Please,” she said.

He set his wand down and returned to hover over her. “You’ll tell me if it hurts?”

She nodded as Ron used his hand to gently guide him inside her. Her eyes were closed as he entered, and she drew a sharp breath in as he filled her. She was so tight. “All right?” he asked, as she nodded again. 

Slowly, he began to move in and out, gradually finding a rhythm. He felt her hips press into his as things started to become more comfortable for her. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, pouring all of the emotion he was feeling into that one kiss.

“I love you, Hermione,” he said as his eyes met hers.

“I love you, too, Ron,” she responded as her hands found the hair at the nape of his neck.

Ron felt himself begin to thrust faster and knew it wouldn’t take long. He felt her encourage him as her lips found his neck and her hands trailed across his body. “F-fuck, Hermione, I’m gonna,” he said as he spilled himself inside her seconds later. Hermione captured his lips with hers as he rode out his orgasm. 

He allowed himself to relax on top of her as he recovered before slowly slipping out and reaching for his wand to clean things up.

“You’re bloody amazing, you know that?” he asked her as she lay there watching him.

“So are you,” she said through a smile.

“I’m sorry that probably wasn’t brilliant…” he apologized.

“It was fine, Ron,” Hermione told him.

He let out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s what every bloke wants to hear their first time.”

“I didn’t mean it like that! Aren’t first times supposed to be awkward, and, well, not entirely satisfying?” she defended quickly.

“I guess that’s true,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you, er, want to put clothes back on?” he asked hesitantly. He was hoping they could maybe explore each other more, without clothes.

“Well, I am a bit cold,” she admitted. “But, I don’t think I’d need them if we get under the covers…” she added. 

He watched as she got up and slid the covers back to climb into bed. Ron quickly joined her after placing his wand on the adjoining table. She snuggled into his arms, stealing the warmth he was happy to share.

“I promise I’ll make it more enjoyable for you, too,” Ron said as he kissed the top of her head.

“It’s fine, Ron, really. We’ve got all the time in the world to learn what we like,” 

Hermione said as her hand rested on his bare chest. He felt her chuckle against him.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking about Harry’s letter. Think I should write a response to Ginny on our ‘getting sorted?’”

Ron shook his head. “Make her wait it out.”

She laughed harder at his response. “That’s true, we’ll be home soon enough anyways. That way, I’ll be able to see the look on her face.” Ron looked down at her and Hermione noticed. “What?”

“You said - nevermind,” he said.

“You need to be home at the latest by the end of next week, but we should probably plan for a few days earlier than that. You’re not missing the appointment that they set you,” Hermione said matter of factly.

“Well, yeah, but does that mean that you’re coming with me?” Ron asked.

“Yes, of course, I am! Things will become clearer once I talk to my parents tomorrow, but there’s no way I’d miss helping you prepare for this,” she said propping herself up on her elbow to kiss him on the cheek.

Ron let out a deep exhale.  “As long as you’re sure it’s not going to rush your time with them.”

“No, I don’t think so. Besides, I- I want to make use of the time we’ve got before you start training...and before I go back to Hogwarts.” She averted his gaze at that last statement.

Ron squeezed her tighter. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“You did?”

“Well, yeah, it must have torn you apart to not go back last year,” he grinned.

“Finishing my education is important to me,” she defended.

“I know, I know,” he said. 

“We’ll be okay, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve just- never been apart for that long before…”

“We’ll make it work. I’ll visit you on Hogsmeade weekends and Ginny will have quidditch matches I can attend. We’ll figure it out,” he said, trying to reassure her. In truth, he was feeling a little apprehensive, too. 

Hermione sat up fully. She turned to lean in and kiss him, but something caught her eye. “Ron, what’s that?” She pointed to a small gift bag on his bedside table.

“Oh! I forgot! This is for you.” He reached over and picked up the bag to hand it to her.

“What’s this for? You’re making me feel like a bad girlfriend. I haven’t gotten you anything..”

“Think of it as a belated birthday and Christmas gift from last year,” he said as he shrugged.

“Well, now that just makes me feel worse!” she complained.

“Oi, just open it will you?” 

She huffed and carefully picked out the tissue paper. He watched as she reached in and pulled out the small box before looking up at him. He gave her a look to keep going. She carefully slid the top off, revealing the silver bracelet.

“Ron, it’s beautiful!” she said as she gently lifted it up to examine the charms more closely. “I love it,” she told him sincerely.

“Really?”

“Yes. How’d you find it?”

“Was just walking around and found this shop that drew me in. They have tons of charms, so if you like it I can get you more-” Hermione leaned in and kissed him. When they broke apart, she said, “I’d love to hear why you picked these. I think I can guess at three of them, but the charms of our patronuses have got me stumped.”

Ron chuckled. “I’m surprised you don’t know,” he grinned, earning him a playful smack on his arm. “Well, the book is fairly obvious, I’d say, considering we met at school, and for some barmy reason, you love reading.” He caught her eye roll before he continued.

“But about the patronuses...apparently Jack Russell Terriers were known to chase otters. They’re both quite playful, too, I guess. I don’t know, ever since Fleur told me back when, well...you know, it’s kind of stuck with me.”

“I never knew that,” Hermione said as Ron lost his bravado. “Actually, now that I think about it..”

“What?” Ron asked.

“Otters are in the same family as the weasel,” she said slowly as she looked up at him. 

“It’s probably just a coincidence..” Ron reasoned.

“Maybe…” Hermione said, playing with the charms. “I love the heart with the rose engravings on it, but why the seashell?”

“Reminded me of Shell Cottage. I realized quite a bit when I stayed there the first time, and I feel like things started to change between us after Malfoy Manor.”

Hermione nodded slowly at his words. “These are all very clever, Ron. I love that it tells different parts of our story.”

“Me too.” Ron reached up to help Hermione clasp it around her non-dominant wrist.

He watched as Hermione put the discarded contents back in the bag and placed them on her bedside table. “I hope you know when you least expect it, I’ll return the favor, once I figure out the perfect gift for you.” She settled back into his side.

“This is enough for me,” he told her. 

“Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve something extra, too, though,” Hermione chided. He chuckled at her words before they lay there in comfortable silence. “I missed you, today.”

“It was less than twelve hours,” he said, not sure why he was instigating the banter.

“So you didn’t miss me at all?” she asked, pouting her lip in mock sadness.

He wanted to laugh at the sight, but he found his body leaning into hers. With her lip puffed out like that, Ron felt the sudden urge give it a playful bite as he snogged her. “Of course I missed you,” he murmured against her lips. 

Hermione adjusted herself so that she was on top of him now as she tilted her head and whispered in his ear, “I wouldn’t be opposed to you showing me how much you missed me...if that’s what you wanted.”

Ron didn’t wait a second longer to adhere to her request. Now that he knew their time alone in Australia had an end in sight, he was eager to make the most of this time with her. Merlin knew that once they returned to the Burrow, privacy would become a hot commodity again.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 78 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Fun fact! This story is now over 300k words. Haha. Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Courtney wanted a more reciprocal relationship, and Violet got a lovely invite from Bob.

This Chapter: Courtney tries something new, Gigi attempts to share some history, and Violet and Sutan head to Bob’s show.

***

Courtney strolled along the beach, sandals in hand, breathing in the salty sea air. She was in no rush to get back since she hadn’t heard from Bianca, which meant she would likely still be working. She’d had to rush out of their spa appointment when a slew of emails had come in from her team at Marie Claire, but not before insisting that Courtney stay and enjoy herself, even instructing the concierge to add whatever services she wanted.

It was clear that she was stressed and aggravated, and even though she’d been there for the hot stone massages, Courtney felt bad that she’d missed out on everything else. But she appreciated how much effort Bianca had made to assure Courtney that she should still relax and have a good day.

So of course, it would have been better if Bianca was there, but Courtney had still managed to appreciate and even relish her day of pampering (how could she not?), now walking along feeling calm and peaceful, every inch of her skin buttery soft from being rubbed and scrubbed and moisturized.

She paused, looking out at the water, admiring the rosy golden light of the setting sun, which was absolutely perfect for a selfie session.

All things considered, Courtney felt like she’d been extremely restrained where social media was concerned for this entire vacation so far. After all, she didn’t want to seem like she was rubbing her good fortune in people’s faces. But this evening, the light was just too good to resist.

She ended up with a whole batch of pictures, a bunch of selfies and also some amazing photos of the view. She slipped her phone back into her brand new Chloe handbag, figuring that she’d worry about what to post later.

When she finally made it back to the villas where they were staying, she swiped her key card to unlock the gate and then climbed the stairs to their suite, glancing through the window to see that Bianca was clearly still working. She stripped off her clothes and then lay out on one of the lounge chairs, catching the last bit of sunshine, determined to go back to New York with a killer tan.

***

Bianca cracked her neck, trying her best to stretch, the tension that had been pounded out of her muscles by the massage therapist just that morning already returning. She took a breath and shut her laptop, finally done for now. One of the advertisers that they’d intended to feature prominently in her presentation to the board--a brand they’d worked closely with for years--had just announced a bankruptcy. The team was in utter panic, so first she had to play Mommy and calm everybody down, then she had to work with them to figure out Plan B, C and D.

Finally, her role was done and everyone could move forward.

It had been exhausting, but on the bright side, now she could truly appreciate the rest of her night. She drained the glass of coquito beside her laptop, then turned to pour a new one, immediately seeing that Courtney had returned, her clothes in a pile on one of the lounge chairs on the terrace. She must have intentionally stayed outside so that she didn’t disturb Bianca’s work. And though Bianca probably would have welcomed the distraction, she appreciated how considerate it was.

She stood up, quickly pouring a second glass and taking them both outside.

Courtney was in the hot tub, looking out at the ocean, bare skin glowing under the already bright evening moon. Her clothes, including her swimsuit, were strewn on the ground.

“Well, hey there…”

“Hiiii…” Courtney turned around, tits on full display, giggling a little as Bianca leered at her.

“Want a drink?” Bianca held out the glass, and Courtney waded over to her to take it.

“Thank you. Is everything okay at work?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” Bianca sank down by the edge of the hot tub, pulling her caftan up around her thighs so that the silk didn’t get into the chlorinated water. She took a long sip of her drink, enjoying the sweetness on her tongue and the way it burned down her throat.

“Wanna come in?” Courtney asked, lashes fluttering. She set her drink down on the edge of the hot tub.

“The view’s better from up here,” Bianca told her, and Courtney laughed, paddling slightly to make herself float. She watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, eyes raking over her body, the way her nipples tightened from the cool evening breeze, the way the water glistened on her long, slender legs. The way her hair spread out in the water, illuminated from the lights in the hot tub, almost like a halo.

It had begun to rain softly, the patter sounding on the awning above them, and the sound lulled Bianca into an almost hypnotized state as she watched Courtney in the water.

Maybe she was tired...or maybe the alcohol was stronger than she thought, but either way her defenses must have been severely lowered, because before she knew it, one of her hands had made its way between her thighs, fingers stroking herself absentmindedly through her bathing suit.

Courtney noticed before she did, a naughty smile spreading across her face as she rose up out of the water and made her way towards Bianca slowly. Bianca set down her own glass next to Courtney’s, just as her palms, warm from the water, were placed on her knees, pushing them apart.

Bianca smiled, taking Courtney’s face in her hands, gazing at her for a few moments before going in for a kiss, soft and deep. She pulled her in, no longer caring about the effect of chlorine on silk, just wanting her close, wanting to feel her body, the pounding of their hearts in sync.

Courtney’s fingers were sliding up her thighs, toying with the edge of her caftan, and Bianca lifted her arms, allowing her to pull the garment up over her head and toss it aside. There was a hungry look in her eyes as she then tugged Bianca’s swimsuit down.

“Come closer,” Courtney murmured, fingers digging into her waist, pulling her towards the edge of the hot tub. Her mouth traveled down Bianca’s body, sucking wet kisses along her neck and collarbone, swirling a tongue around each of her nipples, hot and soft and wet and exactly what Bianca wanted, making her arch forward, hands now gripping the edge of the hot tub.

When she lowered herself back into the water and began to nibble up her thighs, Bianca almost told her to stop. It was on the tip of her tongue--the request to switch gears. The desire to seize control back. After all, this wasn’t what she did. The last time she’d been in this position was so long ago, she didn’t even remember it. But then, almost as if sensing this shift, Courtney looked up at her.

Her green eyes glimmered in the moonlight. Questioning.

“Is this okay?” she whispered.

And instead of saying no, instead of reaching down to turn the tables, press her up against the tile wall of the hot tub and make her moan until she lost her voice, instead of doing any of that, Bianca found herself nodding. Lifting her hips to allow Courtney to pull her bathing suit the rest of the way off, scooting closer to the edge to give her easier access. When Courtney snatched a cushion off the nearest lounge chair and placed it behind her lower back, Bianca’s thighs parted almost of their own accord.

“Tell me what you want,” Courtney said, trailing her lips so lightly up Bianca’s inner thighs that she shivered.

It had been a long time, so long, since Bianca had been touched in this way by someone else, and she found her heart racing in anticipation. Bianca buried her hands into Courtney’s wet hair to guide her gently, saying only, “Here.”

“Mmmm…” The sound against her sent a wave of pleasure down Bianca’s spine and she let out a soft gasp, unprepared for how quickly Courtney’s tongue found her clit.

She was slow, and careful, almost reverent as she swirled a tongue over her, and Bianca’s fingers tightened in her hair. Something in her always had fought this: the unraveling, the letting go. But when Courtney tilted her head up, the look in her eyes was pure love, pure devotion, and Bianca’s grip loosened a little, one hand moving to caress her cheek.

“I love you so much, B,” Courtney said, letting Bianca run a thumb over her lips before getting back to business, brushing kisses over her.

“I love you too, angel, I-oh!” Bianca gasped again as Courtney sucked on her clit, hard, arms wrapped around her quivering thighs. “Jesus christ…”

Bianca let her head drop backwards, no longer fighting the moans that rose up from her chest. The only words she could manage were urgent commands: higher, harder, then fuck, yes, tipping over with one final moan, her whole body shuddering.

For a neophyte, Courtney’s stamina was impressive, keeping at it as Bianca’s moans turned to whimpers, easing up on the pressure, tongue going soft.

“Come here,” she finally said, taking Bianca’s hands and pulling her into the warm water, making sure that her head was resting comfortably against the side of the hot tub. She kissed Bianca’s eyelids, the corner of her mouth.

“Shit.” Bianca rubbed her eyes with one hand, the other still tangled in Courtney’s hair.

“Did you like that?” Courtney asked, the self-satisfied look on her face contradicting the innocence of her words, as if she already knew the answer.

Bianca rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Yes...but you don’t have to look so smug about it.” She tried to keep a straight face, but seconds later broke out into a grin, dimples deep in her cheeks, pulling Courtney closer until she was straddling her on the bench.

Courtney laughed, pressing another kiss to her cheek before wrapping her arms tight around her neck, cuddling against her.

*

COURTNEY: You’re gonna be so proud of me

ADORE: Oh yah?

COURTNEY: I ate pussy

ADORE: LOL! I’m super proud and a little disgusted

ADORE: Were you any good at it?

COURTNEY: Ask B ;)

*

ADORE: Heard bae went downtown.

BIANCA: STAY OUT OF MY SEX LIFE ADORE

ADORE: DON’T FUCK MY FRIENDS BIANCA

BIANCA: OK FAIR POINT

ADORE: lol THANKS

BIANCA: You’re not actually mad about that, right?

ADORE: Only if she’s like...the first of many

BIANCA: UNLIKELY. I’ve seen your other friends.

ADORE: Rude

BIANCA: LOL

ADORE: So...how are things going? You having fun?

BIANCA: YUP

ADORE: You’re not gonna give me any juicy details are you?

BIANCA: NOPE

***

“Hey!” Gigi tapped her computer screen, Symone’s eyes widening on her little face. “Pay attention.”

“I am,” Symone giggled, “Promise.”

Gigi smiled, laying back down on her stomach, her blanket over her as the movie continued. Symone had texted that she missed their movie nights, and while it had been a bit of a hassle to make it work with the time difference, Gigi had jumped on the chance to watch a movie together online--even if they’d be seeing each other in person again in just a few days.

“Who’s that again?”

“Heather Duke.” Gigi watched Symone’s face, the movie so familiar to her she barely had to pay attention.

It was her suggestion that they watch Heathers, Symone agreeing instantly when she had described it as ‘Mean Girls from the 80’s.’ She supposed, though, that she should have prepared her for how much darker it was than Mean Girls, since she didn’t laugh nearly as loud as Gigi at “fuck me gently with a chain saw” and seemed visibly disturbed when the first murder occured. On screen, Shannen Doherty was praying over her friend’s coffin.

“I prayed for the death of Heather Chandler many times and I felt bad everytime I did it but I kept doing it anyway. Now I know you understood everything. Praise Jesus, Hallelujah.”

Gigi giggled, the prayer always one of her favorite parts.

“Oh my god, how can you laugh at that? You’re such a psycho, this movie is fucking bananas!” Symone exclaimed.

“It’s iconic!”

“Whatever, and that green bitch is cray.”

“‘That green bitch’ is Brenda Walsh, have some respect.”

“I don’t know any of these people, I wasn’t alive in the 80s.”

“Brenda Walsh isn’t 80’s! She’s 90’s!” Gigi hadn’t considered that there were moms who weren’t completely obsessed with pop culture, her mom telling her on more than one occasion that no daughter of hers should be unaware of the defining moments of fashion history, their relevance no less important just because it hadn’t happened on a runway. “You know, 90210, Beverly Hills 90210?”

“I'm not going to know it more because you keep repeating it.” Symone threw some of her hair over her shoulder, a smirk on her face. “I was like 3 in the 90s.”

“Oh my god,” Gigi grinned, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen. “Me too!”

It was the Skinny Pop, and it didn’t taste as nice as real popcorn, but her mom had still bought it when Gigi asked, since going back to New York with a bunch of holiday weight wouldn’t help her get Fashion Week bookings.

“We’re the same age,” Gigi added.

“I know,” Symone smiled, running her fingers through her hair, “But you’re like, super weird.”

Gigi blushed, Symone’s tone so filled with affection it couldn’t be anything less than a compliment.

“I do like how the Heathers are all color coordinated.”

“You know,” Gigi pushed up on her elbows, an idea taking form in her head. “If I asked my mom, she’d totally make their outfits for us. We could do a photoshoot, not a fashion one, but like, for Instagram or something.”

“Oh my god yes!” Symone’s eyes widened, and Gigi felt warm delight spread in her limbs. “Can I be the yellow one?”

“Sure,” Gigi nodded, biting her lip at the thought of how good Symone would look in yellow as Heather McNamara before turning to the more important issue of the rest of the casting for their photo shoot. “I’ll be Duke, obviously, because green is my color, but we’d need someone to be Chandler.”

“And who’s-”

“The red one.” Gigi grinned, Symone so cute with how stupid she was sometimes though she’d never tell her, “and it’d be so cool if we had a Veronica.”

“You know, Naomi looks good in red, and I think Bimini could be talked into being Veronica.”

“Yes!” Gigi’s eyes widened, the entire shoot taking form in her mind, the movie forgotten for now. “You text, and I’ll go ask my mom!”

“What about the-”

Gigi didn’t hear the rest of Symone’s comment, already sprinting out the door and towards the stairs to find her mother.

***

“Violet! Hey girl!”

Violet smiled as Maxwell waved, making his way through the crowd to give her a hug.

The club was already filled with people, the drag show starting at 11. The club was rather dark, with red lights and a beautiful mosaic wall behind the bar, clutches of black painted steel chairs spread out, the dance floor open on the other side of the big open space, packed with people, thumping house music playing through the speakers.

“Bob is so psyched that you’re coming. And so are the girls,” Maxwell gestured to a table, where Blu and Kiara sat, looking dressed to impress. “Go have a seat, I’m gonna grab some shots for the group.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I don’t need-” Violet began, but Maxwell had already slipped away, leaning across the bar. She shrugged and headed towards the girls, who jumped up to say hello, kissing her cheeks, exclaiming over how cute her dress was.

Violet took a seat at the table, careful not to knock over any of the empty glasses, the surface thankfully not sticky as she put her YSL on the table.

“Well, the diva is ready, and she looks fucking fierce tonight!” said a light voice, and Violet turned to see a very pretty young man with sharp cheekbones and black hair, wearing a military jacket.

“I can’t wait to see what she looks like,” Blu squealed. “Violet, have you met Kade?”

“Um, no. Hi.”

“Definitely not, I’d have remembered you. You’re like, super gorge!” Kade grinned, his eyes gliding over Violet’s face.

“Oh, um. Thanks.” Violet couldn’t help but smile, the compliment said with complete sincerity. Kade continued looking at her, and Violet tilted her head.

“Whoops.” Kade chuckled, breaking his gaze. “Sorry, I’m so awkward, I know.” He held his hands up in front of him, before holding one out to shake. “I’m Kade. Bob’s boyfriend.”

Bob’s boyfriend? As Violet took his hand, her eyes darted unconsciously towards the bar, realizing with a mild panic that Maxwell was heading towards them with a tray of shots.

“Right. No, his other boyfriend, cutie,” Kade laughed, sitting down next to Blu. “Max, can you back me up, please?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Everything’s kosher,” Maxwell said with a grin, setting the drinks down and taking a seat.

Violet let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t know that Bob had two boyfriends, but once she thought about it some more, it made sense, Bob one of the chattiest and personable people she had ever met.

“So you’re a designer, right?” Kade asked.

“Yeah. What do you do?”

“I’m a makeup artist,” he said, holding up his hand. Violet looked closer, noticing the smudges of makeup, the dark tones standing out against his skin, the colors clearly matching Bob.

“Kade is also a fierce drag queen.” Kiara threw her hair over her shoulder. “You should check out his insta, he’s like...amaaazing,” Kiara smiled, taking a long sip of her drink, the red fuzzy sweater she was wearing somehow so chic even though it shouldn’t be.

“Oh.”

“Omigod, you’re hilarious,” Kade said, giggling, turning to Maxwell. “I love her.”

“Yeah, we like her too,” Maxwell said. “Hey, weren’t you gonna bring your man? Is he still coming?”

“Jackets,” she explained. Sutan had taken hers as soon as they arrived, as well as his own winter goat. “I’m sure he’ll be here-”

“Any minute?” Sutan grinned as he swept in, putting an arm around the back of Violet’s chair, the man apparently taking a detour for the bar as cocktails for both of them had appeared. “Hello Maxwell.” Sutan held a hand out, shaking it. “And you three are?”

Blu giggled, and Violet couldn’t hide a smile as Sutan introduced himself and shook hands, a sense of satisfaction washing over her, Kade reintroducing himself.

In honesty, she had been a bit worried about whether or not Sutan was going to come when she had invited him. It hadn’t been her intention, but so far in the relationship, he had called a lot of the shots about what parties they went to, where they would eat, about who they saw.

It wasn’t because Violet didn’t have opinions; she simply went out a lot less than he did. Club nights with Pearl and visits to whatever art exhibition or fashion event that caught her fancy were the extent of what she used to do. Being a student or under Fame’s thumb left her with very little free time on her hands.

When she had presented the idea of going to Bob’s show, Sutan had jumped on it immediately though, and he had even dressed up. His clothes for the night a tight fitting black Prada shirt, black pants and a vintage Gucci leather jacket completing the look.

“Violet!” Violet was pulled out of her thoughts as Blu put a shot with bright green liquid down in front of her, everyone else already holding one, even Sutan who had a cocktail in his other hand. “Shot!”

“Umh,” Violet picked the shot up, “I really shouldn’t-”

“Afraid you can’t keep up?” Kiara raised an eyebrow, a smirk on her lips.

“I can hold my liquor,” Violet smiled back, realizing that no one at the table had ever seen her truly party, that honor only bestowed upon Pearl, “but I have the crutches-”

“Girl please!” Blu laughed, “We’re sitting down and your boyfriend is here!”

Sutan raised his glass, a delighted twinkle in his eyes even as he didn’t say anything.

“Believe me,” Blu leaned forward, “Being drunk is the only way to get through Bob’s show!”

“Blu!” Maxwell swatted her arm, making the table laugh.

“I only speak the truth!” Blu grinned, sitting back down in her seat. “Now come on, Chachki. For Bob.”

“For Bob,” Violet reached her shot, clinking it with Kade before they all downed the first round, the alcohol burning and sickly sweet. She put it down with a grimace, Sutan laughing but he held her cocktail up so she could take a sip.

“So,” Violet felt Sutan’s hand sneak around the back of her chair. “Is this a 5 or a 10 dollar tip kind of show?” Sutan smiled, looking around the table. “I’m hoping the bartender will break up my bills.”

“I think Bob would die if you handed him 10,” said Maxwell, and Kade burst out laughing.

“Toootally,” he added, grinning. It was fun to see Kade and Maxwell interact. They were clearly friendly, but it didn’t seem like they were dating too, which seemed a little confusing to Violet.

“Definitely,” Kiara nodded. “He’s usually much more of a dollar queen.”

“Hey!” Maxwell gasped, faux outrage on his face, and Violet giggled.

“I’ll get a little bit of everything.” Sutan smirked, standing back up. “Anyone want another drink? Blu? You’re almost out.”

“Really?” Blu grinned, twisting a strand of her orange hair around her finger as everyone gave off their drink orders, Sutan writing it down on his phone.

***

Maxwell hated to admit that he was crushing on his coworker’s boyfriend, but it was impossible not to.

Sutan was stupidly attractive and it didn’t help that he had come back with a tray of drinks and shots--the man even considerate enough to get everyone water bottles too. He had always found Sutan interesting, Bob always teasing him with how closely he had followed his career, but there was a difference between seeing someone you admired in the style pages from Fashion Week, or even at a distance at photo shoots at work, and then having actual interactions and conversations.

Now, Sutan was sitting next to Violet, his arm once again slung around the back of her chair, his fingers toying with the curled ends of her ponytail as he listened to Kiara tell a story.

Violet’s outfit of the night was a lilac dress with balloon sleeves that sat tight in the waist and ended just above her knees, her nails painted in a French manicure with flecks of silver that matched her jewelry, her lips a pale pink.

She was objectively stunning, and they suited each other, Violet and Sutan, Sutan and Violet, fashion couple extraordinaire.

Bob had never minded that Maxwell had crushes, their relationship open from the very start, though it was rarely - if ever - Maxwell who acted on it. Thankfully, Bob had amazing taste in boyfriends, and while Maxwell didn’t want to kiss Kade, he was a good friend who he enjoyed spending time with whenever it made sense.

It would be a sour feeling, the unrequited crush on Sutan, if it wasn’t for how happy and content Violet looked, her expression relaxed in a way he only ever caught glimpses of at work.

Maxwell felt more than heard his phone vibrate, and he reached into his pocket to fish it out, a message and a picture from Bob only just ticking in. Maxwell had sent him a break a leg text about an hour ago, even though he knew Bob didn’t need it, his boyfriend magic on a stage, the limelight where Bob truly belonged, so he hadn’t expected a reply.

Maxwell smiled, his heart aching a little with how much he loved him. He tipped the screen, wanting to show Kade the picture of Bob since he was the one who had done his makeup for the night, but he was cut off as the atmosphere of the club changed.

“Yaaaas!” Kade twisted in his chair, the music changing as the lights focused on the stage. “Omigod, brace yourselves!”

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

The Revived - Chapter 6: A Talk

This is chapter 6 of the dream smp fic @dramaticsnakes and I are writing. Thank you to @r0w3n-1n-d0ugh for beta-reading this chapter!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Tubbo, Ranboo, Ghostbur, Phil

Word count: 2,988

Cw:  Eating/food, major angst, loneliness, bottling up emotions, trust issues, fear of abandonment, discussions of betrayal, implied suicidal thoughts, loss of purpose

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The table was already set before they walked down, three chairs and a hightop were around the table. As Michael sprinted towards the dining room, everyone else walked at a moderate pace. Wilbur found himself sitting at the chair furthest away from the little family. While Wilbur didn’t mind imposing on most things, the domestic scene before him appeared private, as Tubbo gently lifted Michael to the highchair. Everyone sat down, and as Wilbur saw the food on the plate, he realized that it had once again been quite a bit since he ate. He looked at the inviting steak, and cut off a piece of it with his knife and fork, shoving it into his mouth, embracing the taste.

“What’s that?” Ghostbur asked in awe, causing Wilbur to feel a little abashed, as he realized what was going on. Wilbur swallowed. “Mm, this steak is really good,” he said in response, and Ghostbur gasped excitedly.

The steak was actually quite delicious. He didn’t remember tasting Tubbo’s cooking in a while, which of course made sense, all the years at a train station considered and all. Though this was clearly food, made by someone who cooked proper meals frequently, which was an interesting change, from their time in the wars. A change that left a strange stinging sensation in Wilbur’s chest that showed up uninvited every once in a while, but was fairly easy to quench. 

“Thank you!” Tubbo said with a cheerful smile.

“There wasn’t much food in limbo, you know.” Wilbur commented, eating a bigger piece, “In fact, there wasn’t anything. I tried to lick the walls once or twice, but they tasted worse than the walls in this world.”

Tubbo’s face turned slightly pale, and he chuckled awkwardly. “How do you know-” he trailed off and shook his head, “Nevermind.”

At that moment, Wilbur realized that all this time being dead, made people look at Wilbur strangely, and treat his comments with a new sort of hesitance. What would usually have been met with laughter, was met with stares and grim silence. 

But Wilbur’s words were just something everyone else would have to get used to eventually.

Ranboo sat next to Michael, cutting the steak on Michael’s plate into tiny pieces. He tried, to little avail, to put a piece into Michael’s mouth, which Michael looked away from quickly. “Come on, Michael, it’s dinner time,” he said gently.

Tubbo turned to his husband and his child- which was a sentence Wilbur still hadn’t gotten quite used to thinking- and tried to assist. He smiled nervously, as he grabbed another little piece. “It’s good for you, Michael. And delicious!” he took a piece from his own place and ate it, followed by an overexaggerated hum of satisfaction. 

Ranboo took the fork and asked Michael, “Do you want it?”

Michael shook his head no, slightly pouting. Ranboo gasped, “But steak is so good! Well…” he aimed the fork for his mouth instead of Michael’s. “I’ll gladly take it, steak is one of the best things ever.” When Ranboo opened his mouth to eat the steak, Michael made grabby hands towards the fork.

Ranboo barely held back a laugh, “But this is my steak isn’t it?”

Michael shook his head again and moved his head towards the fork. Ranboo smiled, his plan working exactly how he expected it to, “Alright, I’ll let you have a bite.”

Ranboo led the fork to Michael’s mouth as the toddler took it gratefully. Michael even dared to make a face towards his father that could only be described as a pure soul attempting to look evil. Ranboo gasped dramatically, “I thought we taught you better than such manners!”

Michael snorted as he opened his mouth for another bite. Ranboo cut up a small piece of steak when he was casually interrupted by a series of knocks on the door. The specific pattern flew by Wilbur, but he felt instinctively that they were a planned order. Tubbo got up at the same time as Ranboo.

“I’ll get it,” Tubbo assured him.

“You already made dinner. I’ll do it,” Ranboo pushed his chair back in.

Tubbo walked towards the door, “I’ve got it, Boo, spend some time with Michael.” Ranboo’s shoulders noticeably relaxed at the nickname.

“Alright,” Ranboo sat back down and picked up Michael’s fork. He led it towards the toddler as routine, occasionally making comments about how he wished for a bite so Michael wouldn’t get suspicious. 

Wilbur took the moment to remember his recent conversation with Ranboo. Why did Ranboo believe Dream was such an antagonist to imply that it was obvious why he held such distaste for him? There wasn’t blood on Dream’s green hoodie, but Ranboo clearly saw it on his hands in a way Wilbur couldn’t understand. “Why do you hate Dream?”

Ranboo tensed, “I- well, hate isn’t the word I would describe it as…” While Michael was chewing he ate a piece for himself. If Ranboo was actually hungry or trying to delay the conversation, Wilbur would never know.

“Then describe it.” Wilbur was tired of the lack of knowledge he knew. Before he was decently satisfied, but his curiosity demanded more when Ranboo mentioned Dream. 

Ranboo chewed on his steak, clearly longer than he needed to. “It’s not really too important on the word choice, it’s just-” Ranboo looked at Michael with a fondness as he slowly got another bite for the boy. “He’s done a lot of things,” Ranboo’s voice was almost a whisper.

Ghostbur hummed, “People don’t really like Dream. I can’t recall much of him, but… he did something bad. No, a lot of things bad. He did some bad stuff to… to Tommy! Made him really sad.”

Wilbur nodded from Ghostbur’s explanation as it was more helpful than Ranboo’s. He was about to ask what Dream did to Tommy, but his thoughts were interrupted when Tubbo spoke, “Guess what, Michael, Grandpa’s here!” Wilbur looked over and saw Phil rolling his eyes at Tubbo’s word choice. 

Wilbur remained quiet as Phil’s eyes lingered on him. 

Phil’s expression was akin to concern, and Wilbur wasn’t that fond of it. Once again, he felt as if he was on display, and as if he’d given something away he should’ve kept to himself. “Techno said you’d be here,” Phil said quietly, and he waited for a few moments as if he wanted a response.

Wilbur didn’t know what satisfying response he could give. “Did he?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, as he jokingly added, “You know, I almost managed to forget how much of a bastard that guy was.” Ghostbur gasped in a worried kind of way, though he didn’t say a thing out loud.

Phil hummed and walked towards Michael. He gave the toddler a fond pat on the head, a gesture that reminded Wilbur far too much of a less tainted past. Phil looked at Ranboo and Tubbo. “He’s grown a bit since the last time I saw him,” he said.

“He has, hasn’t he?” Tubbo said proudly, “He’s been eating well too, mostly. We had to take away the yellow crayons. He has quite a taste for gold.” he chuckled.

Phil laughed, as he continued to pat Michael, who had excited sparks in his eyes. When Phil turned his face towards Wilbur however, it changed from laughter to a simple smile. Wilbur had the urge to walk away, though he stayed put, taking some more bites of his steak. “Listen…” Phil said, after a few casual greetings to the child and the parents, “Can I talk to you for a second, mate?”

Wilbur tensed up because he knew it was directed at him. The word alone hung in the air as well, implying that this would not be where the conversation took place. In short, that meant this was a serious conversation, and unfortunately, Wilbur had a vague idea of what it was going to be about. He nodded, more sheepishly than he would’ve liked to, and stood up from the table. Phil excused the both of them, and the two of them left the room together.

When Phil opened the door to the outside, Wilbur started to wonder if this was the moment he would be backstabbed, though he knew the reasoning was much more emotional and intangible than something like that. A backstabbing would be easy to tackle. A conversation with a concerned father was a lot less simple.

The two stood outside in the snow, and Wilbur was reminded of their first meeting after his revival. “What is it?” Wilbur said sharply.

“Wil…” Phil said softly, “I uh- I was wondering if you’re doing alright.”

Wilbur scoffed at the question, “I clearly am.”

“Wilbur,” Phil said more sternly, though not out of anger but more so out of concern. “I’m worried about your… safety- that might be the best way to put it.”

Wilbur nodded, but he barely meant it, “Understood, Mr. Minecraft, I’ll make sure to look both ways before crossing the street.” The words meant to come out in a playful way, but they were sharp with edges that hurt himself along with Phil.

“No, I-” Phil closed his eyes, focusing on his word choice. He opened them again with a look that lingered in melancholy but tried to look hopeful for Wilbur’s sake. “Techno told me about… your burns and I…” Phil took a deep breath in to try and address the topic directly, “Why did you go into the nether without any armor?” The words were quiet, but solid by themselves. 

Wilbur couldn’t hold back an eye-roll from how many times he’d been asked that today, Phil slightly frowned at this. “I mean, it doesn’t exactly matter much anymore. I’ll be more careful next time I go.”

Phil pursed his lips, “You don’t understand the point.” Phil sighed, “I’m worried about you.”

Although it shouldn’t have, it caught Wilbur off-guard. He didn’t ask why, because he knew he’d get a default answer about how he was a human being and his son and probably a sob fest that he’d heard before. He wasn’t a child anymore. He knew his place in the world. His place didn’t have any room for his father’s concerns. “I don’t need your pity about how it’s hard for me to get used to living again.” Wilbur didn’t even intend for that to slip out. He didn’t need to tell Phil anything. He didn’t need someone to be against him despite acting like they cared.

A part of him painfully thought how that description didn’t fit only one person.

“I know it takes a bit of practice?” Phil awkwardly laughed before his calm tone returned, “But you can’t get better at being alive by being reckless. It would be like saying you can’t use any measuring spoons while baking. I- We’ve got spoons, there’s no need to go through extra pain.”

“What the fuck does me going into the nether and tripping have to do with spoons?”

Phil’s tone softened, “You know what I mean.”

Wilbur looked at the snow around him, not being able to bear Phil’s sad look anymore. “I frankly don’t.”

Silence lingered in the air. It wasn’t a comfortable silence that made you enjoy the moment. It was harsh and uncomfortable to breathe in.

“Wilbur…” The tone of Phil’s voice tugged on a part of him. It was an idiotic part that needed to acknowledge that he wasn’t going to be Phil’s child again. He was just a disaster of a failed nation that everyone seemed wary of. 

A disaster of a son as well.

“You should go home.” Wilbur refused to meet his father’s eyes. Instead, he stared at his white breaths in the frozen air. 

“I don’t want you to leave again without me knowing when you’re coming back,” Wilbur told himself that he didn’t hear the small crack in Phil’s voice. He wanted to go into his father’s arms and have a moment where the two were together in a warm house in front of the fireplace. Instead, he settled on wrapping his own arms around himself. They weren’t warm to his body. They didn’t provide what he needed. Tears formed in his eyes at the thought of going home with Phil and pretending that things weren’t different now.

But everything was different. He hated that. He hated how the only laugh he would get was a small chuckle as everyone assumed he was a child that didn’t know the dangers of the world. He died three times. He knew danger better than anyone else would. He’d been betrayed more times than he could count on both of his hands. What if Phil got the courage to stab him unprompted? To bring a sword in the night and take care of everyone’s problem? “You should go,” Wilbur’s sobs almost escaped him as tears silently slid down his face. 

Phil sighed. “You know where to go if you… yeah…” Phil’s footsteps moved through the snow behind him, slow at first, only a pause stopping them. Phil wanted Wilbur to ask him to come back. Wilbur knew this. He knew he was an asshole, but he needed independence. It was ironic that he fought for L’Manburg’s, yet, it was still out of reach for him. 

After a few seconds of mutual silence, Phil’s steps continued, fading slowly. When they stopped again, Wilbur turned, perhaps to apologize but saw no one in sight. It took him a moment to realize Phil already went through the nether portal. 

Phil was gone.

He wasn’t coming back. Wilbur put a hand over his mouth, he had learned to cry silently during one of the wars. A quite useful skill if you asked him.

But no one would ask him. He was a fucking idiot that couldn’t hold onto anyone, no matter how much they asked him to stay. Yet, no matter how much he held on, he was always alone. They didn’t even leave on day one or two. No, no, no. They had to leave years after he knew them. They had to make Wilbur think he could actually hold onto them before they left.

Wilbur’s legs collapsed as he sobbed into his hand. He put his other hand on top to make sure he didn’t make a noise. He didn’t need Tubbo nor Ranboo to discover how pathetic he was. They had their family. They were happy. They didn’t need Wilbur. No one did. Tommy held a grudge against him, Technoblade thought of him as an annoying child who couldn’t handle himself, and Tubbo only took him in out of pity. 

And that didn’t even touch on Ranboo. Ranboo must’ve hated him by now. He asked a few too many questions, lingered on topics a little too long. 

He supposed that Michael cared about him. But at such an age, the kid probably cared about every little piece of grass. He wasn’t special. He was just another blade of grass that could barely make an impact. His unfinished symphony was a finished crater covered in glass, his name typically regarded out of spite instead of love. The feeling was mutual. 

“I- why did neither of you say goodbye? I thought after 6 months apart you would be constantly talking, since being in here is really lonely…” Ghostbur’s voice started to crack as small cries escaped from him. “I thought time makes the heart grow fonder, not angry and sad. No, bitter. That's a better word for it.”

Wilbur spluttered slightly, as he scoffed through the sobs. “No no, it’s… Thank you, Ghostbur, but it’s-” he stopped, his eyes widening, and his heart seeming to take a break from beating for one fleeting moment. “Excuse me-” he said, his eyebrows suddenly furrowed, “How long did you say we’d been apart?”

“Half a month. No, wait, half a year but also six months since they’re the same. Well, there’s probably a few more days added-”

Ghostbur was cut off by Wilbur’s astonished words, “I- I wasn’t there six months.”

The disbelief rang through his ears louder than Ghostbur could ever speak. Thirteen years hadn’t passed. Thirteen and a half years hadn’t passed.

Six months.

Just six months.

[miss-eucatastrophe]

Pairing: Levi x Erwin x Mike x Thick!Reader/PlusSize!Reader

Summary: When you purchased your first home you’d anticipated it being a turning point in your life. You just didn’t anticipate that turn to give you whiplash. 

A new home throws you into a new lifestyle you would have never thought you’d find yourself in-- with three men you’d never expected to be with. 

Rated: Explicit [18+]

Main Tags: Polyamory/Polyamorous relationship, BDSM, Attack on Titain Modern AU, Slow Burn

A/N: Hey all, Just some things about the reader in this fic before you get invested:

I keep the reader ambiguous in appearance and use [y/n]. Use of [y/n] becomes minimal in favor of pet names as the story progresses. 

One thing that is not ambiguous is that the reader is thick, you could also say plus sized though because that’s different in every country I favor the word thick. I also think its kind of a sexier adjective. 

Reader has self consciousness issues and anxiety, both are being treated/have been treated through therapy. I keep it ambiguous as to whether or not the reader is still in therapy-- regardless the reader is insinuated to be far along and doing well in her treatment. Shout out to my peeps who are/have been in therapy, your mental health is important and you’re doing great no matter where you are in it. 

Reader is in her mid to late 20′s because realistically purchasing a home before that is near impossible. Hell even in our 20′s its hard. I also wanted to give a little love to my thick girls in their later 20′s because we out here. 

A lot of AOT reader inserts, if not completely ambiguous, often emphasize a super fit form. Which makes sense in the typical setting when the reader is in the AOT world and maybe a soldier-- but I wanted to give some love to our fuller body types. Maybe I just got tired of reading “...reader’s flat/muscular stomach...” and going-- ooh can’t relate! Haaa. 

That being said, you can read this no matter what your body type because everyone’s perception of self is different-- I just wanted to give the heads up because the reader does struggle a bit with her sense of self in the story because of her body type as her self confidence continues to develop. 

BDSM dynamics ultimately take place in this fic. Some are good BDSM practices/etiquette, some are not good. Professionals know the difference and this is not your guide to polyamory or BDSM. The poor etiquette will be rather obvious but if you’re interested in pursuing BDSM in your real life, please don’t use this work of fiction as gospel. Do your research and practice safely! 

My fictional stories are for ADULTS. Do not read them if you are under the age of 18. 

With all that out of the way, Please enjoy~ 

Chapter 1:

“I got this,” A panted breath.

“I got this,” A strained grunt.

“Nope I lied.” A loud thunk of a heavy box hitting green grass.

“Told ‘ya so.” The brunette breathlessly quipped from her position beside another box, her arms haphazardly flung over its surface. “Can we please take a break now?”

Admitting defeat, you fell in a heap on the lawn and nodded your head, but not before running your forearm across your sweaty brow. “Okay, yeah,” your reply was just as breathless although your friend had given up long before you. “Like five minutes.”

The other female placed her chin on the box, framing her head between her outstretched arms. “Okay, yeah, like fifteen minutes.” She echoed in a tired din, attempting to get you to thoughtlessly agree to her editing of the time.

Though tired with your legs and arms throbbing under the surface of your skin, you shook your head. “No Sasha,” you said firmly. Though it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself over her. “If we take longer than five minutes, we’re gonna quit and we’re almost done!” You gestured with an open palm to the admittedly small moving van parked in the street in front of you. You’d made good headway with it. It was amazing how much stuff you could fit in such a small van.

It was amazing how little space said stuff could take up in such a big home.

Well, big might be a little generous. It was by no means a mansion, certainly not as big as some of the other models on the same street, but it was bigger than your previous living conditions.

More importantly it was yours.

Yours.

You smiled, looking up at the bright sky above you, dotted with a few fluffy clouds.

Your first home.

Your heart sped up when you reminded yourself. You had doubts that it would ever happen. Saving enough money to put a down payment on a home without loans or handouts was no easy feat. But you did it, and that hard work had paid off in achieving your goal. Your down payment was enough to make the house payments bearable; though for the first few months you could see that a majority of your income would go back into the home either in the form of said payments, filling the home with furniture, or renovating some of the areas that needed love.

Like the front yard.

The front yard needed some love.

Not the lawn. The lawn was good. The lawn was providing you and Sasha with a much-needed reprieve. Yes, the lawn could stay.

You loved lawn.

Lawn loved you.

Until your arms started to itch. A less than intimidating growl left your lips as you quickly sat up, your nails digging into your skin as you scratched at it for some relief before flailing your arms about to try and save them from the irritation—as if you could shake it off your flesh.  

“Back to work.” You chirped, making Sasha groan.

“Remind me what I’m getting out of this again?” She mumbled, her face planting itself back to the box to muffle her protests.

Kicking yourself up to standing, you looked over your shoulder with a playful smile, “I’m feeding you.” You reminded her.

After a long pause, perhaps letting your words sink in, Sasha released a huff, lifting her face and flexing her small arms in her baggy t-shirt. “Second wind!” she shrieked by way of a battle cry, her hands clenching the cube between her legs in a vice grip as she moved to a squat, yanking the box off of the pristine lawn.

Who would take such good care of a lawn but ignore the rest of the yard? The previous owner apparently. Then again, it made a bit of sense. It was easy to turn on a sprinkler system to keep a lawn looking fresh whereas the things you wanted to add would take work. Like flowers. You loved flowers. Though you’d struggle on and off with a potentially green thumb, unlike your mother who could make anything grow. Planting flowers was a must. You would work your way to the backyard. But the front yard was like a first impression and you wanted it to be pretty for when friends came over as well as for the strangers that passed by. You wanted people to say, “Oh what a cute house. Whoever bought it really spruced up the place. It looks much better. Oh, it so does, blah blah blah.” Should you care what other people said? No. But you were human. Besides, your mother always kept an immaculate home, you wanted to emulate her in the maintenance of your own home.

As always you were getting too ahead of yourself. You were thinking twelve steps beyond where you were. That could be dangerous. Such thoughts could stimulate anxiety. Something you were unfortunately prone to. You took a deep breath, stealing your resolve to focus on the present moment.

You lifted your gaze, letting it drag over the neighborhood. “Find every color.” You murmured to yourself.

Red, the roses on the bush two houses down.

Orange, the moving van.

Yellow, your shirt.

Green, the lawn.

Blue, the sky.

Purple, your struggled to find purple and made a note to plant some purple pansies to rectify that.

Pink, the flowers of the magnolia tree next door.

You took a deep breath. This was your favorite grounding exercise you’d learned from therapy. It forced you to stay in the moment, steel yourself, and stop racing thoughts—often times before they happened since now you were much better at recognizing the warning signs. It took a lot of work to get to this point. It was work you were proud of.

You took another breath.

First the van. Empty the van. One thing at a time.

A huffing and puffing Sasha stumbled down the shallow steps of the front door—your front door you though joyously—with her hands on her hips, bent slightly at the waist to pin you with judgement. “Excuse me? Am I do’n all the work around here?”

You smirked, nudging the box in front of you with the toe of your shoe, the memory of your struggle to lift it still fresh in your mind. You weren’t in a hurry for a repeat performance in spite of your hassling of Sasha. “Depends, how big of a meal you want?” You teased her.

The brunette scoffed. “If you want me to go at it alone then you better be treating me to a buffet.”

You giggled, though a twinge of envy settled in your chest. Sasha was a petite thing considering how much she ate. You were not. The fact that she could eat so much and still keep her shape while you struggled around your weight made you jealous. The thought of going to a buffet filled you with dread. You always wondered what people thought when they saw someone of thicker size stepping into one of those. It triggered the self-consciousness you were working on diminishing. It wasn’t as though you were lazy, ugly, or any other stereotypical term that so wrongly coincided with your set. Hell, you’d moved over half your old residence by yourself. You were strong! Your body could do amazing things. You just didn’t match the image plastered all over social media and society of what a woman “should” look like.

Size 0 mannequins could go fuck themselves.

You had hips, you had a butt, you had ample breasts—all things sexualized excessively in the female form—you just also had a little extra. Thick thighs, a bit of a tummy—society wanted you to have tits and an ass but when you had the addition that often went with those things naturally, you were frowned upon. It was a complete catch 22. However, society wasn’t going to change, not overnight. So instead you worked on yourself—or rather your perception of self. Therapy helped, but it was an everyday battle to combat two parts of your brain. The half that liked and appreciated the many elements of you, including your body—and the half that was an asshole.

Right now, the asshole was winning. Because of this you had no interest in taking Sasha to a buffet—which meant you had to actually pick up the box you were glaring at.

Bending over, you hoisted the box into your arms with refreshed energy and groaned as you started to your home. “Remind me again why we didn’t recruit the guys?” You mumbled; your voice strained with effort. You probably had books in there. Yeah that was absolutely the book box. Should have spaced those damn things out. What kinda dumb ass were you to put almost all of them in one box?

“Oh, it’s not that much and they’re working, we can totally handle it.” Sasha said, her voice mimicking yours as best it could, though laced heavy with sarcasm. “That’s you. That’s how you sounded.”

You were kicking yourself, “Talk some sense into me next time.” You called, over your shoulder, dropping the box just inside the door where it was going to stay until you either, one, had the energy to move it, or two, had finished putting up your half book shelf.

It was probably going to live there for a while.

“Already thinking about ‘next time’? Oh, no, you’re not moving for at least 10 years. You can’t get me to do this again before that.” Sasha said sternly when you walked back outside to meet her by the van. “I’ll book you for 10 years from now.” You agreed, leaning against the side of the vehicle while Sasha took a moment to fix her ponytail which had gone messy with her unloading efforts.

Walking around to the back of the moving van, you leaned down to pick up another box, a smaller one than the last and took a moment to look over what was left. Just a few bigger items. They were bulky but between the two of you they wouldn’t be difficult to manage. Getting the bed frame and headboard up the stairs was going to be a pain in the ass, luckily TV’s were thinner now so that would be easy to get inside, the bedside tables were small and each of you could carry one of those, the dresser was going to be a bit of a bitch…

You bit your lip, looking over the items and making a list of difficulty in your head. Once again you were filling your mind with ‘to-do’s. Luckily, a voice pulled you out of your own thoughts as you backed down the van’s slope.

“Hello girls!”

You turned around to see an older woman toddling down the driveway beside your own, holding a tray with cookies and two glasses of what appeared to be lemonade.

Putting on your best ‘first impression’ face, you gave the woman a bright smile and placed the box down at your feet to greet the woman who was undoubtably one of your new neighbors. “Hello ma’am,” you said politely. Sasha was too busy drooling over the cookies in the woman’s hands.

“Please, please, call me Della.” She said, lifting the tray in her hands to present the offering to you and Sasha, who was quick to snatch the lemonade and two cookies, chewing both of them at the same time with happy hums and grumbles. You nudged her with your elbow silently scolding her for bypassing the introduction process. Della waved you off, having noticed the subtle action. “She’s absolutely fine! I’m thrilled to have someone enjoy my baking so much.”

All the same, you introduced yourself before taking your own cookie. “It’s nice to meet you Della. I’m [y/n] and this is Sasha.” You took the tray from her and placed it on one of the taller boxes so you could shake the woman’s hand. “Thank you so much for the lemonade and treats.” How on earth had the woman baked that fast? You’d only been there about two hours and these cookies were absolutely fresh out of the oven. Clearly you were living next door to a witch. A kitchen witch. You were totally okay with that so long as she directed her baking powers on you regularly.

“These are amazing.” You mumbled around a mouthful of warm cookie, the flavor sitting on your tongue for a moment, only to have your pallet cleansed by the lemonade.

Della gave a bright smile, “Well thank you dear. It’s nice to have another darling couple to bake for.”

Sasha spit out the lemonade she was sipping, her eyes popping out of her head as she coughed.

You swallowed your bite to try and keep from choking yourself. “Oh! Oh gosh no. No Sasha is just helping me move in. She’s my best friend.” You clarified calmly.

Sasha was thumping her fist to her chest in an attempt to clear her esophagus. “Connie would kill me.” She managed to choke out between wheezes.

“I think he would be down.” You murmured around another sip of lemonade, teasing her.

Della however covered her mouth, looking a little embarrassed by her assumption. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I guess I’m just so used to our other neighbors.” she trailed off, gesturing to the house on the other side of yours. You took that to mean that your other neighbors were a gay couple.

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it!” Honestly, you were pleasantly surprised to have an older woman be so openly accepting and progressive. Having a neighbor like that wouldn’t be half bad. Especially if she made a habit of sharing her cooked concoctions.

It seemed you’d managed to move to a rather well-rounded neighborhood. It made a smile tug at your lips.

“Will you be living alone, dear?” Della asked, smoothing her hands over the apron tied around her waist. The action cause tiny plumes of flour to drift in front of her before her green eyes came up to regard you with her full attention. It must be her way to ask if you had a significant other that would be moving in alongside you. To some it may seem prying, but you didn’t blame her for wanting to know a little more about the person living right next door to her.

Nodding your head, you reached for another cookie. You probably wouldn’t have normally, sometimes you felt odd eating in front of others— it might have something to do with your negative self-image—but in this case it seemed rude to not show how much you enjoyed the treats after your neighbor slaved over them for you. So, you justified the second as you answered her question. “Yep, just me.”

Humming her understanding, Della nodded in response. “Well don’t you worry. This is a very safe neighborhood. I’ve never felt nervous living alone.” She assured you.

It was not something you’d even considered. You’d lived on your own before, in truth you just slept with a baseball bat under your bed or a heavy flashlight by your nightstand. You’d never had to use them of course, but better have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. You were confident in your ability to defend yourself. As confident as an untrained baseball bat wielder could be anyway. It’s not as though you knew martial arts.

“That’s reassuring.” You told Della with a smile who returned your kind expression. “If you ever need anything, do let me know,” she said softly, picking up the tray as you and Sasha placed your glasses on it—though she handed you the plate of cookies which was for your to consume at your leisure.  “Us girls gotta stick together.” She winked, pulling a giggle from you before she gestured with her chin to your other neighbor’s home. “We’re outnumbered by boys after all.” She was just teasing but it clarified your suspicion of your other neighbors being a male couple.

“They’re very kind,” she added, “So I’m sure they’ll tell you the same. It’s a very lovely neighborhood.” She gave a little curtesy since she couldn’t wave. “I’ll let you girls get back to it!” She called as she walked back up to her driveway.

You smiled back, waving as she made her way to her home, “Thank you again! It was nice to meet you!” You raised the plate of cookies to Sasha’s view once the woman had retreated into her house after the brief welcome. “These are gonna be gone.” You whispered, walking past her to get them to the empty kitchen before you and Sasha could turn them to crumbs.

“Don’t you owe me a debt?” Sasha called after you, picking up the box the tray had once sat on top of.

You gave her a look over your shoulder. “I’m not giving you all my welcome cookies. I’m ordering pizza later.” For a moment you contemplated hiding the sweets. But that wouldn’t protect them from you. Just Sasha and her ravenous hunger.  

It took a little under an hour to get the remainder of the van emptied, without any interruptions—no matter how pleasant. Assembling the bed was a bit of a pain, as suspected, but it was the only piece of furniture you were going to rope Sasha into helping you with. You’d bought a few new pieces of furniture that were still in boxes, which made them easier to pack, but you still had to assemble them. You were confident in your ability to do so on your own. You’d put together enough furniture in your time; and Sasha had done more than enough to earn her pizza.

Thus, the remainder of the evening consisted of eating said pizza, demolishing the plate of cookies, and yelling at reality stars through the television about their actions even though they couldn’t hear you nor Sasha. Thank god you had gotten the cable hooked up day one. You at least needed internet to watch Hulu and Netflix.

Your spunky brunette friend didn’t stay too late. Bless her, she took it upon herself to take the van back to the rental facility for you so you could continue to get settled. The most important piece of furniture was already complete, ready for you to pass out on it when you gave up on the boxes.

To your credit, you managed to unpack most things that didn’t involve the furniture still needing to be assembled. In fact, you unpacked and sorted all your kitchen ware very easily. The kitchen was a good place to start because it didn’t require the rearrangement of furniture which would inevitably come with unpacking areas like your bedroom. Empty cabinets, drawers, and countertops were a blank slate that only required methodical stuffing. Most people’s kitchens were relatively similar in where cutlery went, mixing bowls, cups, pots, and pans—there was only so much variability. It wouldn’t require the careful placement needed to make a space cozy and inviting. It just had to be functional and neat.

Another aspect that made the kitchen simple was your lack of items. Again, this home was much larger than your previous residence. It had much more space for things. Things you didn’t have but would come with time. You were rather excited to shop around for new things to fill your kitchen as well as the rest of your house.

You’d also managed to unpack some knick-knacks and items that would be set on already constructed furniture, like photographs of your family and friends. One of your favorite pictures included you, Sasha, and Connie in Disneyland. Because you were never too old to enjoy Disneyland. It had been your first trip with friends instead of family when you’d reached adulthood. You smiled fondly back at the joyous photo, all of you wearing Micky Mouse ears and grinning at the camera.

Connie and Sasha were two of your closest friends and though they were together romantically they never made you feel like a third wheel. You enjoyed their company dearly. The picture would get a place of honor in the living room before you went to bed that night, concluding your first day of unpacking.

-

The next two days went by in a blur of screws, hammers, nails, bubble wrap, newspaper, and boxes as you unpacked neatly tucked items and assembled furniture that was somehow always missing a screw or two that probably wasn’t important to the overall design anyway. Hopefully, the instructions were more like guidelines. So long as the furniture was sturdy and looked the way it did in the picture, it was fine. A lot of it was place holder furniture anyway. Rather cheap IKEA stuff that would serve to fill space and allow storage as you’d slowly accumulate nicer goods overtime.

It was a process, you reminded yourself, and the home wouldn’t be perfect or look like a catalog home right off the bat. It was what your mother had told you as well when you told her you were buying your first home. Her encouragement and soothing words also helped to keep you grounded much like the techniques you were still learning and utilizing from your time in therapy.

You’d hardly been out of the house since Friday when you first moved in and in spite of your fatigue caused by tedious unpacking, you were itching to start work on the front yard.

Not the backyard.  

That was an adventure you weren’t ready for. You didn’t have an idea mapped out for that yet and weren’t going to spin out trying to construct a plan for it. The backyard would be last. Mainly because that was going to be a big project. It wasn’t poorly maintained, but it was empty. It had a nice lawn, much like the front yard, but that was it.

A blank slate almost overwhelmed you more. It allowed too many options. When you were ready, you’d likely ask the opinion of your parents or friends. Picking their brain for ideas would be helpful and take some of the burden of decisions from your shoulders.

But that was another day, likely many weeks from where you stood now.

Where you stood now was The Home Depot, in the gardening section, looking over the flowers, shrubs, pots, and yard décor they had to offer.

As you promised yourself earlier, you picked up some purple pansies, leaving every other flower and shrubbery up to the whimsy of your mood. Once you had enough plant life to fill the sparce areas of your new home you picked out a few more gardening essentials that you were severely lacking in. Such as gardening gloves, a trowel, and a small bag of soil to fill the few cute pots you would put on the front porch containing succulents. Because succulents were hard to kill—and admittedly you were still a bit green regarding the whole gardening thing.

Pun very much intended.

You snorted at your own stupid joke.

People looked at you in the checkout line.

You looked away, chagrinned.

Quickly, you paid for your greenery items and scurried out to your car. You would start planting right when you got home. It was still early in the morning, hardly 9:00 am. Way earlier than you liked to get up if you were being honest. But, if you started now you could get most of it done before it got too hot.

-

This was Mike’s favorite way to start the morning. With his heart pounding in his ears to the tune of his running mix, his nose filled with the fresh scent of the creek’s running water, and his bare shoulders gently warmed by the sunlight dancing through the canopy of trees overhead.

Almost every day before work, Mike would jog down to the creek trail not far from the house, enjoy the scenery, make a loop or two around the two mile-long path, and then jog home. It was a routine that never changed. He’d been doing it for years now and the consistency was part of what grounded him. He would credit his morning run with assisting in coping with his PTSD. Going without triggered his anxiety and instantly set a poor tone for his day. As such, his boyfriends were good about allowing him to untangle from the sheets every morning, despite one not being a morning person—because he hardly slept in the first place— and the other being a bit of a cuddlier, though he would insist Mike was the cuddlier. Not himself.  

A smile tugged at Mike’s lips at the memory. He wiped his sweating brow with his shirt which was draped around his neck rather than on his body. He’d discarded it early in his run in favor of feeling the light breeze tickle over his bare torso.

His breathing changed as dirt road turned back into concrete when he turned from the creek trail back onto the sidewalk of the main streets of his neighborhood, making his way towards home.

As home came into view, his jog slowed to a walk, allowing his muscles to feel the rush of blood flow under his skin, the tingling throb of adrenaline cycling through his system becoming more noticeable with the shift of pace. Mike’s arms stretched over his head before bending at the joints. His hands folded behind his skull just under the knot of his blonde hair—the half up hairstyle keeping his shaggy bangs out of his face.

Getting closer to his home, he noticed a difference in the normally consistent pattern of houses along the street. A person was in the yard of the house beside his. Their old neighbor had never spent time tending to the yard. He hummed a curious sound. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to introduce himself to their new neighbor. The “for sale” sign had been taken down days ago, and he vaguely remembered the presence of a moving van without occupants when he’d left for work that Friday.

Mike pulled his phone from his pocket, pausing his music before taking out one of his earphones as he got closer to the house. Though his own music was silenced, a new tune hit his ears, getting louder the closer he got to the kneeling form. The music wasn’t so loud that he would have to yell over it—he could probably clear his throat and the stranger would hear him.

With every intention to politely do just that, he opened his lips and—

Stopped dead in his tracks the moment he got behind the stranger because of what he was greeted by.

There you were, in front of him, on your hands and knees, back arched and your body at an incline as you dug the hole in front of you. But that’s not what got his attention. It was that your legging covered ass was perfectly on display, high in the air, round and inviting.

Mike stood there; mouth partially agape without realizing it. It was a few moments of ogling before he could take in more than that. He picked up your gentle voice, humming to the tune of what was playing on your portable speaker, he picked up the scent of flowers and damp earth, and he picked up on your doe like eyes wide with surprise. It was only then he noticed you had turned around away from your project, hand on your heart as you let out a yelp of surprise at finding someone standing behind you.

A giant standing behind you.

“H-hello…” you murmured, collecting yourself as you moved to turn down your music to a gentle background noise.  

Mike was able to take that time to gather himself. He quickly closed his mouth, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. The man made a conscious effort not to stare, though now that he could see your face it was becoming even more difficult. A cute face to go with a nice ass. A blush dusted his cheeks. Hopefully covered by the sun kissed pigment of his skin.

God willing.

“Uh sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He lifted his hand not currently on the back of his neck, pointing to the house to his left, the one with the magnolia tree. “M’name’s Mike Zacharias, I live next door.” He put on a smile though it was no less sheepish than his previous expression. “I hadn’t had the chance to introduce myself yet.” He was thankful to have a cover up to his staring.

You paused for a long moment, the gears in your head almost audible—then recognition flashed over your face. Part of you was trying to recall the conversation you’d had with Della on move in day, the other part was mesmerized by the husky voice.

The sudden brightness that filled in your eyes when you smiled had Mike’s heart in his throat.

“Oh! Yes,” Pulling yourself up to standing, you rubbed your palms together to brush off the dirt and then pulled off one of your gardening gloves, extending a clean hand to him. “I’m [y/n] [l/n]. It’s nice to meet you.” You were extremely eager to make a good impression on your neighbors. You thought you had done a pretty good job with Della—though her cookie offering had done most of the work for you. It was imperative you get along with Mike and his partner. After all, you’d gotten very lucky with most of your neighbors throughout your life. Most of that was due to your parents. Your mother was friendly, polite, and warm. Your father was boisterous, funny, and generous. You strived to offer the same mix to your neighbors and have a good relationship.

You had seen enough episodes of “Fear Thy Neighbor” to understand that a poor relationship on either side of you could wreck an otherwise comfortable home life.

Of course, “Fear Thy Neighbor” was the most dramatic of examples often leading to violence and murder.

You should probably stop watching the ID channel.

Stick to the stupid reality shows.

Mike swallowed thickly, the dusted pink in his cheeks brightening. His large palm engulfed yours and it was as if his blush traveled from his face, down his arm, through your hands and up to your own cheeks. His hand was huge, it practically swallowed yours. Your palm was completely swaddled by the deceptively gentle squeeze of a rough hand, slight calluses made firm by some sort of labor you couldn’t name.

With your surprise having warn off from the initial contact you found yourself fully registering the man in front of you—

And holy shit if your brain didn’t almost immediately short circuit again.

First of all, he was a giant. Already established—but something you didn’t truly comprehend until you’d stood and fully approached him from your botany project. If you dug the hole you were working on a little deeper, you were pretty sure you could plant Mike up to his knees and he’d continue growing into the tree he so clearly was.

Second of all there was his face which was generously exposed by his tied back dark blond hair. Hazelly-green eyes, pronounced nose—that fit him perfectly, and a strong jaw lightly bearded along it as well as his upper lip.

Your eyes followed the curve of his jaw down his neck, past his broad shoulders and onto a sparsely haired chest just where his defined pectorals met. If you followed the path from his chest down to his toned stomach, which you absolutely did, you found the same light etching of hair extending from his navel down to his—

Your eyes quickly darted back up to his face, your own heating up substantially as your hands all too soon disconnected.  

Mike placed his hands on his hips which served to flex his strong arms and momentarily distract you again.

If you could have slapped yourself subtly, you would have done so. But with those hazel eyes boring into you, you settled for mentally berating your thirst. ‘Get it together woman. He’s taken… and gay.’ But gay came second to taken. It was important to respect a preexisting relationship. It was important to respect sexuality too.

But—

You could look, right? No harm in looking. That’s why people went to museums. To drool over the Statue of David.

That throaty voice pulled you back to focus. “So, is it just you?” If you weren’t completely sure that the man in front of you was gay, the question would have sounded hopeful.

He must have just been asking so he could introduce himself to any other potential newcomers.

“Yep just me. It’s my first house.” He didn’t ask for that second part, but you were proud. You were proud of having your own home and doing so alone. You didn’t have to depend on anyone to get to this important step in your life. That wasn’t something many people could say. You weren’t trying to brag—it was just that residual excitement of having achieved one of your life goals.

Mike to his credit seemed excited for you. His eyebrows raised, as if impressed. Buying a home was getting harder and harder for every generation. Though he didn’t seem too much older than you. Probably in his early 30’s. Even if he were ten years older than you that would be a generational gap and that meant the struggles to find a home were different between the two of you. However, you didn’t think he could be that much older than you considering you were in the later part of your 20’s. 30’s seeming to creep ever closer. But seeing Mike reminded you that your 30’s didn’t make you old in the slightest. The more you looked at Mike, the better your 30’s looked. Because fuck if Mike wasn’t fine as hell.

You were thinking too far ahead again, this time years.

To pull yourself from your spinning thoughts, you looked back at Mike’s face. The smile momentarily dazed you. Because of course he would also have perfect teeth. “Congratulations, that’s wonderful.” He murmured, looking to your house for a moment and then back at you. The house was rather large for one person. “No significant other chomping at the bit to invade your space yet?” The tone was teasing, and you managed a laugh which dispelled your previously spiraling thoughts. God, sometimes you didn’t even notice when they were spiraling.

Mike seemed interested in your relationship status. It put little butterflies in your stomach which were squashed when you looked down at yourself. Even if Mike were interested in females, why would he be interested in you?

You growled internally at those disparaging thoughts to shut the fuck up. You counted to three in your head, a brief distraction from those thoughts used to ground you in the present.

Normally, you preferred your longer methods of distraction, like your colors. However, those weren’t feasible when in the middle of a conversation with your hot neighbor.

“Nope, no boyfriend or anything. Just me and maybe a dog or a cat at some point.” You grinned at the idea, reminding yourself that now that you had your own home no one could tell you if you could have a pet or not. No landlord, no parent, no roommate—no permission needed.

The twinkle in Mike’s eye was easily missed. “My votes’ for a cat,” he murmured offhandedly.

“Not a dog fan?” You asked playfully. Though maybe he was worried about you having a yappy dog that he would have to listen to all day. Understandable.

“No, I like dogs too,” Did his voice get a little deeper? “Just always been fond of kittens.” His eyes slid over you, a smile tugging at his lips that made your blush from earlier give an encore performance.

‘Taken. And. Gay.’ You reminded yourself, willing the blush to dissipate and scolding yourself for reading too much into his gaze. Schooling your expression with the same friendly smile you’d given Della; you nodded your head. “Well I’ll just have to drag you along when I adopt one, then you can play with some pussy.”

Oh lord.

That was a Freudian slip if there ever was one.

You felt your face go hot and resisted the overwhelming compulsion to connect your palm to your forehead. Inappropriate joke for a first meeting—for sure.

Mike’s eyes flashed with something you couldn’t name, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I’ll take you up on that,” he grinned, and the expression was playful, putting you a bit more at ease. “It’s been far too long since I’ve played with a cute pussy.”

Your thighs squeezed together. Unnoticeably, you prayed.

Mike must have been messing with your somewhat unintentional word choice. Though you were happy that Mike seemed to be the lighthearted type. You could see yourself forming a friendship with the man. Hopefully, his boyfriend (husband?) was half as laid back.

You also hopped his partner was half as sexy.

Because if he was just as sexy as Mike, you were going to suffer a heat stroke.

The giant grinned, tilting his head to gesture to his home. “I gotta get ready for work.” Was it your imagination or did he look a bit reluctant? His grin was back in place too soon to really tell. You nodded your head politely with a little wave just before he turned away.

“It was nice to meet you.” You called, getting back on your knees next to the little pit you’d dug for your shrub.

The blond looked over his strong shoulder as he made his way down the sidewalk and threw you a very obvious wink. “Catch ya later, kitten.” He replied before he rounded his driveway and walked up to his front door, giving you one more glance and disappearing inside the much larger home.

Blinking, you sat frozen for a few moments before your eyes drifted to the hole beside you. Maybe if you dug it a bit deeper you could bury yourself in it.

Because Mike was surely going to be the death of you.

-

When Mike got back into the house, he had to lean against the door, tilting his head back to let the cooling air of the AC drench his heated skin. Though at this point the heat was less from his run and more from the cute new neighbor. It took everything in his power not to pin you to the dirt right there. He let out a little groan, hardly audible.

But just audible enough.

A voice, smooth as honey called from around the corner. “Mike? You alright?”

Mike hummed an affirmative and pushed himself off the door to make his way to the kitchen where the voice was coming from. If he didn’t answer right away, he knew the male would come searching for him and instantly begin to drill him on his mental state. There was no need for that.

His mental state was good. Very good this morning.

His large palm came up to slide over the marble of the kitchen island as he bypassed it to get to the fridge, sticking his head in for longer than necessary to retrieve a water bottle. A soft crack filled the room as he twisted the cap, breaking the seal as he turned to face the kitchen table. Two sets of eyes peered over at him. One set a bright blue; the color of the ocean, the other a stormy grey sky.

The honey voice spoke again, the blue eyes having been peering behind a newspaper completely revealed by its placement on the table. “Good run I take it?”

“Looks a little too happy about a run, Erwin.” The stormy eyed male murmured from behind a teacup held at the rim.

Mike smirked a little. Levi always was perceptive. They both were. But Levi noticed subtleties far more quickly than Erwin did. “I met our new neighbor.” He brought the opening of the bottle to his lips, letting the chilled liquid sooth his throat of the dryness from his run.

“Oh?” Erwin asked, leaning back in his seat and tilting his head back as a silent hint for Mike to lean down to him. Levi was good at noticing subtleties, but Mike was good at reading hints. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Erwin’s, his own cool and water glazed compared to Erwin’s soft and warm ones. “Mm hm,” He confirmed while righting himself. “And Levi,” Mike moved to the other side of the table, tilting Levi’s head back with a fingertip to direct his gaze to him which had been glued upon the novel in his left hand. The ravenette looked up from his book with the giant’s prompting, gaze aloof and seemingly disinterested. However, the look in Mike’s eyes gave him pause.

Since Mike knew Levi, really knew him, he noticed the curiosity lingering behind that seemingly blank expression.

Mike pecked his lips to the shorter male’s, whispering against them. “She’d be perfect.”

[canarygirl1017]

Hands On Me - Chapter 1

Pairing: Reader / Jungkook

Genre:  College!au, fluff, mild angst, smut 

Length:  4,341k  words

Warnings:  language, sexual themes 

Summary:  You’d never had much luck with relationships, and experience had taught you to shy away from physical intimacy. But when you started dating your neighbor, Jungkook, you began to think he was worth the risk. College AU. 

A/N:  Next chapter coming soon. I originally wrote this a few months ago based on a prompt I got from my writer’s group. It was supposed to be college based romance, couple’s first time together, mildly angsty, and include the dialogue “Do you want to break up?” I sort of vaguely pictured JK when I was writing the male lead, at least visually, so I thought I would post it as a reader fan fic, which I’ve never written before. I usually write Marvel fan fic at AO3 in third person (not second person) so this isn’t as natural for me. Also, this is just for funsies because I don’t do real life shipping with real life people, though I do enjoy reading some of the well written fics I’ve seen in the fandom. If people enjoy this one, I might post more as I have a lot of short story prompts I’ve written for my club and don’t do anything with. 

Chapter 1

Snuggled up on the sofa watching TV together was how you spent most evenings with your boyfriend, Jungkook. You did a quick clean that morning in anticipation of him coming over since he seemed to prefer being in your space, though it hardly mattered; home was just a few doors down regardless of which apartment you chose to spend time together in.

You shifted your attention from the book you were reading to Jungkook’s profile, fingers itching to trace the sharp jawline that attracted so many women to the gym where he worked as a part-time trainer while he finished university. He also needed a haircut, but he’d shrugged off the suggestion when you mentioned it earlier that week. The slightly longer, inky black locks suited him though.

He was focused on the basketball game that had gone into overtime, his thumb absentmindedly stroking against your hip as you leaned against him. Being close to him was a double-edged sword lately and a reminder that he hadn’t really touched you in a while. Not since that night a few weeks ago.

When you first started dating three months ago, he’d been very physical with you. Dates that ended with kisses at the door had quickly turned into dates that ended with making out on the sofa at his apartment or yours. But during one very heated session on his sofa you got nervous, suddenly worried that things were moving too fast, and you pulled back. To his credit, Jungkook backed off immediately, assuring you that he was fine with following a slower pace.

Your high school boyfriend had pushed for sex and against your better judgment, you’d slept with him after the senior winter formal, only to be devastated when he moved on less than a month later. Similarly, your last boyfriend had been very pushy about sex, and your reluctance was a bone of contention between you until he broke it off.

At twenty-two, Jungkook was a year older, and you knew that he was much more experienced. You’d been neighbors for almost a year now, and you’d seen several of the girls he dated coming and going during that time. You’d never spoken to one another outside the occasional hello in passing until the night you came back from work to find your ex-boyfriend, Mike, drunk and pounding on your door.

Since you didn’t want to let him into your apartment, you stood outside to talk to him. Apparently offended that you wouldn’t let him in, he’d begun berating you loudly enough to have a few neighbors popping their heads out to see what was going on. And in the middle of that embarrassing situation, Jungkook and his friend walked up.

“Hey y/n,” Jungkook said. “Sorry we’re late.”

He slipped an arm around your waist, startling you, though you couldn’t deny you were grateful for the interruption.

His friend chimed in, holding up a takeout bag. “We brought dinner.” You’d seen him around campus and remembered that his name was Jimin.

Mike had eyed Jungkook, as if sizing up a potential fight. But while he had an inch or two on Jungkook in height, Jungkook was all lean muscle and without question the stronger of the two. So, he had backed off, but not before firing off a parting shot. “Good luck with the virgin. Cold fish bitch.”

Your cheeks were burning as he walked away.

Jimin broke the silence. “What an asshole. Does he do this a lot?”

You shook your head. “This is the first time I’ve seen him since we broke up.” You could only assume the alcohol had made him think that you were a potential booty call.  

Jungkook frowned as he stepped out of your personal space. “Sorry if I overstepped. I know it’s not my business, but I didn’t like the way he was crowding you at the door and yelling at you.”

“No, I appreciate you getting rid of him,” you answered. “Thank you.”

Jimin held up the takeout bag again. “We really do have dinner. Do you want to join us? Maybe it’s better if you’re not here alone in case he decides to come back.”

You hesitated, but then your stomach growled, a reminder that you hadn’t eaten since breakfast because of a hectic day of classes followed by work at the campus library.

Jungkook smiled. “We’ll take that as a yes.”

You became friends with Jungkook after that night. It was amazing how quickly you’d felt comfortable around him. He was kind and friendly, and he frequently helped the elderly residents of your building. Then one night after he’d shown up at the campus library and walked you the few blocks home, he kissed you. It marked the beginning of your new relationship, and you’d been inseparable ever since.

Unlike the few other guys you had dated, Jungkook had never directly brought up the topic of sex, nor had he pushed for it. You’d had a brief conversation one night about your respective exes. You knew he’d had one serious relationship that ended when he moved away for college and the long-distance relationship proved to be too much of a strain. He’d only dated casually since then, though you’d seen some of his overnight guests leaving his apartment the morning after.

Jungkook knew you’d had a boyfriend in high school, but you hadn’t gone into the details of the breakup. Though it was several years in the past, that rejection still stung, and you didn’t like to talk about it. He’d never asked about Mike other than to ensure you weren’t being harassed. You supposed the drunken scene he and Jimin had witnessed was explanation enough.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you failed to notice the game had ended until Jungkook spoke. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

You looked up to see him watching you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Doing what?”

“Completely zoning out,” he replied with a half-smile. “Is something bothering you?” His chocolate brown eyes studied you intently.

“No,” you said quickly. Maybe too quickly because you could tell he didn’t quite believe you. His tongue pushed against his cheek, something he did when he was thinking about how to deal with a problem.

After a moment, he nodded. “Okay.” He stood up and stretched. “I should get going. I have an early client tomorrow.”

Saturdays were always busy at his gym, and he sometimes worked longer hours on the weekends. “Do you have clients tomorrow night?”

“One,” he confirmed as he pulled on his leather jacket. “Jen’s birthday party is tomorrow, right?”

You nodded as you walked to the door with him. “We’ll be at Carmen’s.” Jen had been planning her birthday for months and wanted a venue with good food, music and dancing. The trendy bar had only been open for about a year, but it was popular for the menu, which included themed cocktails, and the Latin music. You’d been looking at salsa dancing tutorials on YouTube because you were sure that your best friend would insist on hitting the dance floor.

“Okay. Jimin and I will swing by around ten.”

Jimin and Jen were involved in a casual flirtation that they both enjoyed, though you weren’t so sure it was really going anywhere. Jimin was a handsome transfer student studying modern dance, which took up a lot of his time, much to the disappointment of the single girls on campus. And for the two years you’d been friends, you had never known Jen to date anyone seriously. Still, Jen had heavily hinted that she wanted Jimin to come to her birthday party, and so you had told Jungkook to bring him.

“Okay.” You tilted your head back as he leaned down to kiss you goodbye.

You loved kissing him – the way his hands settled on your hips, and the way the first gentle brush of his lips against yours always gave way to slow, deep kisses. Your hands drifted down his chest to his waist, clutching the material of his t-shirt to ground yourself.

It would be so easy to get swept away. By the heat that flared between you. By your feelings. You knew without a doubt that you had fallen hard for him.

Jungkook pulled back, kissing the top of your head before releasing you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You closed the door behind him and locked up, leaning your head against it for a moment. You were beginning to regret letting him leave every night even if you weren’t sure if you were ready for more. You wanted more, but you were afraid of it too. And you had no idea what to do about it.

_________________________________________

 You nibbled your bottom lip as you sat on Jen’s bed, watching your friend dig through her closet. “Do you think I should…” you paused, wondering how to broach this topic. While Jen had few conversational barriers, you were more hesitant to talk about sex.

“Should what?” Jen asked, her tone distracted as she pulled out another dress and tossed it over the chair at her desk. She tapped her well-manicured nails against the wall as she studied the contents of her closet before pulling out another dress and dropping it on the chair.

You glanced at the pile of dresses accumulating on the chair. “I thought you were going to wear that new dress you bought last week?”

“This isn’t for me,” Jen stated. “This is for you.”

You failed to contain a snort of laughter. “You’re like six inches taller than me. And I have a dress.” It wasn’t new, and Jen had complained that the dark color washed you out the last time you wore it. But unlike Jen, whose wealthy parents supplied her with credit cards and charge accounts around the city, you couldn’t afford to waste money on clothes. Your parents helped when they could, but you also had three younger siblings still at home and college was only possible because of your scholarships. Living in the city was also expensive; if not for Jungkook contributing to your groceries since you often ate together, you’d probably be eating ramen five nights a week.

“And I’m a fashion design student, so I have time to alter one of these. If I have to see you in that funeral dress again, I’m going to burn it. Worse, do you really want Jungkook to see you in it?” she shuddered as she tossed another dress on the chair. “Okay, I think these are the best options. Now, what were you asking? Do I think you should what?”

You hadn’t considered that Jungkook might also hate that dress. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see what Jen had in mind. Arguing with her was next to impossible anyway.

You helped Jen hang the dresses on a clothes rack in the corner so you could see them better. “Do you think I should sleep with Jungkook?”

Jen raised a brow as she glanced over at you. “Hell yes. Have you talked about it?”

You shook your head. “No. I kind of… I don’t know. Freaked out a little bit a few weeks ago when we were kissing and stuff. It seemed like we were headed there, and I wasn’t sure I was ready, and I know I totally pulled a one eighty on him. And now he barely touches me.”

“Huh.” Jen considered that for a minute. “So things are weird now? Are you afraid he’s going to break up with you or something?”

You hadn’t really thought about that. “I wasn’t, but now that you said it, maybe.” You had mostly been worried that if you broke up after sleeping together, he’d be that much harder to get over because you knew that you’d be more attached to him then than you already were. But maybe that worry – that he would leave because you were holding back – had been there all along.

“I’m not saying he would do that,” Jen hurried to add. “I’ve seen how he acts around you, and how he looks at you. I really think he’s one of the good ones. But with your past experiences, I can see why you’d be worried. Has he ever been pushy about it?”

“No, never. When I told him that I thought we were moving too fast, he said he’d follow my pace. Only now, we’ve just kind of stalled out.”

“I guess he’s waiting for you to do something then. Like give him a signal that you want more.”

That could be it too. “I don’t really know how,” you admitted. “I have one night’s experience to draw from, and that was years ago.”

“That wasn’t an experience, y/n, that was a sexual travesty.”

You couldn’t argue with that. “He’s experienced though. I’m sure he knows how to make it good for me, but I don’t know how to do that for him. What if I’m bad in bed?”

“First of all, you have no idea how you are in bed because you’re practically still a virgin. Second, men are easier to please when it comes to sex anyway. Jungkook likes you. It’s easy to tell that he has real feelings for you, so I think there’s zero chance that he wouldn’t like sex with you. You really need to talk to him about it.”

You felt your cheeks heat up just thinking about trying to talk to him about this. “I know. I’m just embarrassed.”

Jen rolled her eyes. “If you can’t talk about it, you probably shouldn’t be doing it. Or I guess you could take the easier route and wear something that does the seduction for you. Like this.” She held up a deep red halter neck dress. The low neckline and back ensured maximum skin exposure. Jen was tall and had long, dark hair so on her, it probably looked fabulous.

Eyeing the dress with skepticism, you said, “That dress is your style, not mine. I’ve never worn anything like that before.” Your style could best be described as casual. On date night, you managed flirty casual, and Jungkook didn’t seem to have any complaints. This dress was on a whole other level, though.

“We can make it your style. I’ll make sure it’s not too revealing if that’s what you’re worried about.” When you still hesitated, Jen added, “Come on, Jungkook will forget how to talk when he sees you in this. I guarantee that you won’t have any trouble getting him into bed if that’s what you decide you want.”

The idea of surprising Jungkook with something like this was appealing. Maybe shaking up your image for one night would give you the confidence to talk to him about your relationship.

_____________________________________

 Jungkook stifled a yawn as he entered Carmen’s. It had been an exceptionally long day, and he wished this was a regular Saturday night like the ones he usually spent with his girlfriend, y/n. He liked being in your apartment because your sofa was comfortable, you had an old record player and some killer albums that you’d collected since middle school, and your essential oil candles made everything smell nice.

Jimin had been teasing him for a couple of months now, calling him domesticated. He supposed he was because before meeting you, he rarely spent a Saturday night in. If someone had told him then that he’d soon trade beers at his favorite bar for candles and snuggling on the sofa, he would have laughed.

And since Jimin rarely got him out on a weekend anymore, and Jen had equal complaints about you, he doubted either of you would get away with ducking out early.

“Are they upstairs or downstairs?” Jimin asked.

“Downstairs, I think,” he replied.

He let Jimin lead the way. It was crowded downstairs, and he first searched the booths and bar area, expecting to find you chatting with friends. You always said dancing in public made you feel awkward unless you were drunk, and since your alcohol tolerance was low, you usually didn’t drink much.

“I see Jen on the dance floor,” Jimin said. “Did you find her?”

“No.” Jungkook scanned the dance floor, briefly pausing on a petite girl wearing a red dress before looking back at the booths. “Maybe she’s in the bathroom.” He pulled out his phone to call you.  

“Wait, is that y/n?” Jimin suddenly asked.  

Jungkook glanced up from his phone. “Where?”

“That girl in the red dress.”

He looked back at the dance floor for the girl in red, ready to deny it. Except she’d turned around now, and Jimin was right. Holy shit.

“Damn. I know I’ve been giving you a hard time lately, calling you domesticated. I’ll shut up now because if I knew I was taking her home later, I’d be domesticated too.”

Jungkook glared at Jimin. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

Jimin’s expression was sheepish. “Sorry, man. I’m going to hell for impure thoughts, but so are half the guys hanging around her. You might want to worry more about them.”

Jungkook was already on the move as he’d noticed the same thing. Shouldering past two guys trying to dance up behind you, he gave them a look that ensured they backed off. Your back was facing him, and he swallowed hard as his eyes drifted down from your shoulders. The dress draped in the small of your back, leaving a bare expanse of skin, and his fingers literally itched to touch you.

He gave in to the urge, sliding his hand along your waist lightly to get your attention. You turned your head, brows furrowed as you flinched away from the unexpected touch. But when you saw it was him, you smiled and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“You’re here,” you said, tilting your head back to look at him. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

He smiled at your uncharacteristically dramatic tone. “Sorry. I forgot my bag, so I had to run home to change. Are you having fun?” You were pressed close against him on the crowded dance floor, and he was enjoying the feeling of your small body against his. He let his hands settle on your hips, thumbs rubbing light circles. You shivered in response. “Are you cold?”

“No. That just feels good,” you said with a sigh. You toyed with the top button of his long-sleeved white Henley.

He wasn’t used to you being that direct about what you liked. And when your hands suddenly wandered under his leather jacket and ran up his back, he suppressed a shiver of his own. “I think you’re drunk, baby.” He pulled you closer, trying to ignore the teasing glimpse of cleavage revealed by your dress. Your hair drifted around your pale shoulders in loose waves, and all he could think about was running his fingers through it as he kissed you.  

“Maybe a little bit,” you admitted, scrunching your nose as you smiled up at him. “The cocktails are really good here.”

God, you were adorable. He’d never met another girl that he wanted to simultaneously fuck senseless but also protect and cuddle, though the former urge was winning out tonight. He’d never imagined you wearing a dress like this, and he knew it would be fueling his fantasies for quite some time. It had to be Jen’s influence, though he certainly wasn’t complaining.

As if reading his thoughts, Jen suddenly sidled past him on her way to the bar. “You’re welcome.”

For the next three hours, you divided your time between the dance floor and the bar, and Jungkook was content to follow behind you. You danced slowly together regardless of the beat, and he finally allowed his hands to stroke your bare back. You kept tilting your head back, inviting his kisses, and he was happy to indulge you. He was so turned on he could hardly think straight, but he knew he needed to keep a tight rein on the situation. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of that night a few weeks before when you had all but run from his apartment.

When you got a bit unsteady on your feet, Jungkook ordered water and fries at the bar before leading you to the booth where Jimin, Jen and a couple of other friends were talking. He could tell you were starting to fade as you finished the water and food. When you yawned and leaned against him, he kissed the top of your head. “I think it’s time we got you home.”

You hummed in agreement. Jen tossed him your jacket from the corner of the booth, and he helped you put it on. The cab ride back home was long enough for you to fall asleep in his arms. He savored every minute, stroking your hair gently, lulled by the sound of your breathing and glad that you had shaken off the pensive mood you’d been in the night before.

Jungkook was observant enough to realize that something was worrying you lately. While it bothered him that you wouldn’t tell him what you were thinking about, he worried that the relationship was still too fragile for him to push when it was obvious that you didn’t want to talk about it. Still, it was becoming increasingly difficult to let it go because he was concerned that it had something to do with him.

He wondered if it was about sex. Ever since that night he’d intervened when your ex showed up drunk, he’d wondered about your relationship with him. Something in the past had made you nervous about physical intimacy, which he’d realized after you ran out of his apartment that night, and he’d been very careful not to do anything that might make you run again. More and more he wished he’d punched that asshole, feeling certain he was somehow to blame. He’d deserved that and more for the name calling alone.

When you arrived home, Jungkook paid the driver and helped you from the car. Upstairs, he unlocked your apartment, smiling when you kicked your heels off and the effort sent you stumbling sideways. He steadied you before removing your jacket and draping it on the arm of the sofa. You walked to your bedroom and he grabbed some water from the kitchen before following you.

“You don’t feel sick, do you?” he asked, placing the water on your nightstand.

You shook your head as you sat on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand to him. “No.”

He took your hand and sat next to you. “You should change before you go to sleep, so you’ll be more comfortable.”

“You like the dress, right?” You nibbled your bottom lip as you peeked up at him through your lashes.

Understatement. “You look beautiful,” Jungkook said quietly, pushing your hair off your shoulder. His breath caught when you turned her cheek toward his palm and rubbed against him like a sleepy kitten.

“Then kiss me,” you whispered.

He hesitated, but you were already reaching for him. The kiss was like throwing a match on kindling. Then you scooted back to lie down and pulled him with you.

This was dangerous and he knew it, but he ignored the niggling little warning in his head because he’d been thinking about kissing you like this all night. He pressed against your soft curves but kept most of his weight off you as slow kisses turned more passionate. And when your hands grew bolder, running across his chest and back and tugging him closer, he gave in to the temptation, pulling you more fully beneath him.

When you parted your thighs, allowing his hips to settle between them, he dropped his head to your shoulder with a groan. Pressing kisses against your neck, he willed himself to calm down. “Baby, we should stop.”

You responded by pushing your hips up against him, and he bit back a curse. He was fully hard now and stopping was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew it was the right thing. Jungkook braced his weight on his forearms and took a breath as he stared down at you.

“But I want you to stay,” you said, threading your fingers in his hair. Your eyes seemed much darker in the dim light of the bedroom. Your small hands drifted down to his shoulders, kneading, and then moved further down to toy with the hem of his shirt.

Jungkook closed his eyes and took another deep breath, the light fragrance of your perfume doing nothing to help him regain control. As much as he wanted you – had wanted you from the first night he kissed you - he didn’t want your first time together to be after a night of drinking. If there was even the slightest chance that you might regret it later, it wasn’t worth it.

He gave in one last time, kissing the spot beneath your ear that always made you shiver. He darted his tongue out to taste you and then captured your lips for one more long, slow kiss. “Not tonight.”

You didn’t argue anymore, allowing him to pull away. You were quiet as you got up and took some clothes from the dresser before going to the bathroom to change. When you returned, your face was clean, and you wore the usual pajama pants and t-shirt you preferred to sleep in. You didn’t say anything as you slipped past him to crawl back into bed and pull the covers up.

“You’re sure you feel okay?” he asked.

You nodded, your eyes already closed. “I’m just tired.”

He brushed his hand over your hair and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “I’ll lock up on my way out. I’ll give you the key back tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook hesitated for a moment. Something seemed off somehow. Awkward, maybe. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned off the light and let himself out, making sure to lock the door behind him.

[winryofresembool]

Caleo fic: It’s all about the name

Chapters 1-2

Summary: Calypso is a barista at a coffee shop and one day she gets a customer who refuses to give her his real name. At first he seems really annoying but eventually Calypso finds out not all is what it looks like on the surface.

a/n: Surprise! The coffee shop AU we Caleo shippers deserve! This fic is based on @caldez /minervaparadi-no's headcanons so a /big/ thank you goes to you for allowing me to work with your headcanons! Here you can read them if you want to! I might have modified some of them slightly to go better with this exact storyline but I tried to stick as close to them as possible.

Anyway, this fic got way longer than I anticipated because I wanted to see more than just the first meeting, so that's why I'm going to split it into 5 short-ish chapters. The first 2 I'm posting today but the rest of the fic, while almost complete, is still unedited so I will probably post more in a few days. I'm not sure exactly how long it will take because my little niece will visit us starting from tomorrow and I'm really bad at focusing when there's a lot going on around me... but know that more is coming soon. Same goes for Things We Lost in the Fire!

As usual, remember to let me know what you think because it will literally make my day!!

Words: 3,1k+

Genre: fluff, humor

Warnings: none

AO3 (Btw I’m considering changing my posting platform but more about that later)

...

Calypso wasn’t having the best of days. If she was honest to herself, being a coffee shop barista had never been her dream to begin with, and busy days like this particularly reminded her of that fact. The coffee shop she was working at was currently low on staff because one of Calypso’s coworkers had hurt her ankle on a slippery road and another one had caught a cold. Calypso felt like she would have needed at least 5 extra hands to get everything she wanted to do done, and it didn’t help that some of the customers had decided to be extra difficult that day.

One older woman had already tried to run from the coffee shop without paying for her order and Calypso had had to run after her, finally managing to make her come back to pay by telling her that she would call the police if the woman wouldn't obey. Another customer had yelled at her for supposedly messing up his order, claiming that he had ordered an iced mocha instead of iced coffee. Luckily Calypso’s manager had shown up just in time and explained very calmly to the customer that mocha was coffee, but the incident still left a sour taste in Calypso’s mouth. Afterwards, the manager just shook her head and told Calypso to not care about it; she knew the young woman was quite a perfectionist so she took the setbacks quite hard.

Either way, after serving the customers for four hours straight, Calypso felt she was in a serious need of a break. She was just about to let her coworkers know she’d go to the backroom when a new customer stopped in front of her, changing her plans. It was a young man, probably around her age, Calypso guessed, with curly black hair and tan skin. Thanks to his messy outfit and the mischievous gleam in his eyes he gave her an impression of one of those guys who caused chaos wherever they went just because it was fun.

Tapping his fingers nervously on the desk, he asked: “Double espresso, to go, and please be fast because my boss is gonna kill me if I’m back late. I don’t normally drink coffee but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Calypso had already been on the edge before this customer had showed up but something about his ‘be fast’ order really rubbed her the wrong way.

“Alright, then,” she said, still trying to stay calm and refraining to tell him that they worked just as fast for every customer. “And what name should I write on the cup?”

“Bad Boy Surprise,” he replied, remaining completely poker faced. Calypso made a growling sound before managing to stop herself.

“What was that?” the young man asked, not missing her reaction.

“Nothing, must have been our coffee machine,” she lied and pretended to be focused on the espresso making. The guy still didn’t leave the queue, though, as if he wanted to say something more. “Now, Bobby, would you please move so we can serve the next customer. Your drink will be brought to that counter over there in a minute.” Calypso pointed at the said counter.

“OK, Sunshine,” the guy said, giving her a quick grin before finally leaving her alone. What a nuisance, Calypso sighed to herself as she wrote the name Bobby on his cup instead of Bad Boy Supreme. Still, she would probably have to apologize for her behavior because she did not want the guy to complain to her manager. It wasn’t really his fault that she had already had a lousy day and his arrival was simply the final straw that cut the camel’s back.

Soon she finished making the drink and found the ‘Bad Boy Supreme’ waiting at the other counter. His back was towards her, as he was checking out the coffee shop, and Calypso noticed he was carrying a big backpack. Maybe he was carrying some of his work equipment there, she guessed, before calling his name.

“Ahem. Mister Bobby. Your drink is here.”

‘Bobby’ turned towards her, for a moment clearly amused by the fact that she still refused to use the name that he had given her. Unfortunately, him turning caused a series of unfortunate events. The backpack accidentally hit a small milk jug that had been a bit too close to the edge of the counter. It fell, spilling the milk all over the counter and startling Calypso who had still been attaching the lid to the espresso cup. The cup slipped from her hand, the espresso spreading on the counter, floor and Calypso’s clothes. For a moment both Calypso and the guy just stared at the mess, not sure how to react. Calypso’s mouth formed an ‘O’ of shock before she finally snapped.

“IDIOT! LOOK WHAT YOU JUST DID! It will take me ages to clean this mess! Ugh, my clothes are wet too!” She tried to dab her wet apron with a paper towel. The guy seemed genuinely sorry, even though Calypso was too angry to pay attention to it.

“Look, I can replace the…” he started but Calypso didn’t let him finish.

“I just want you to go,” she said in a low voice. “Please, leave before I call my manager.”

“You’re not being fair now,” the guy said but conceded anyway. “I would have paid… But fine, I’ll get my espresso elsewhere.”

‘Bobby’ left and once the dust settled a bit, Calypso noticed her coworkers were giving her disapproving glances.

“Um, Calypso, was that really necessary?” One of them asked. “It was quite clearly an accident. Could have happened to any of us. And he really seemed sorry.”

All the anger suddenly left Calypso and she felt like an airless balloon. “I’m… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I… need to do something in the backroom…” she excused herself before she started crying in front of everyone. Dashing past them, she left the perplexed coworkers clean the fallen drinks.

Once alone in the backroom, she buried her head into her arms and let the frustrations of the day come out. She wasn’t allowed to be alone for long, though, because soon the manager came in and started talking to her.

“I just came back from running some errands and heard some things about you causing a scene while I was gone. What was that about? You’re pretty much the last person in my staff who I’d expect to lose it in front of customers.” The manager raised her eyebrow questioningly.

Calypso started by saying that she didn’t want to make any excuses but it was a result of several things having gone wrong that day. She knew she had been totally inappropriate, but she just hadn’t been able to stop herself in that moment. Still hiding her face behind her hands, she also mumbled she would understand if the manager wouldn’t want to keep her around after that incident, but to that the manager just snorted.

“Listen, Calypso,” she said once Calypso had finished her story. “Mistakes happen to all of us. Do you think I have never snapped at idiotic customers? Even if the drink spilling was an accident, it sounds like that customer kind of deserved it for being a jerk towards you.”

“But… what if he spreads the word about my behavior and people start avoiding our coffee shop?” Calypso asked worriedly.

“I don’t think one person will have that big of an effect on our coffee shop,” the manager smiled. “We have survived our previous setbacks just fine. However,” she got more serious. “There is something you can do. To avoid the bad feedback from spreading, you will apologize to the guy for the yelling. And you could also offer him a free beverage since he got nothing to drink this time.” “But I have no idea who he was!” Calypso exclaimed, not happy about the thought of having to encounter that customer again. “He didn’t even say his real first name; he just gave me some joke name when I asked what I should write on the cup.”

“You can ask the others if any of them have seen him here before,” the manager suggested.

“Alright,” Calypso complied. “I will do that. But if they don’t know who he is…”

“Then we’ll just have to live with the fact that one customer out of the hundreds we get daily is not happy with us,” the manager said lightly before getting more serious. “Calypso, it’s not the end of the world. The main thing is that you understand what you did wrong and will do your best to not repeat it.”

Calypso was very relieved her boss took her incident that calmly. Not everyone would have been that patient, she thought, remembering some very unpleasant memories from her childhood. Already calmer after her manager’s words, she washed her face and changed into a dry apron before joining her coworkers to ask them about the guy she had yelled at. Turned out that one of them in fact remembered seeing him before.

“Yeah, I remember that guy,” Reyna, the coworker said. “He was here a couple of days ago and gave a fake name even then. I think it was Super-sized McShizzle or something like that. Anyway, he was wearing a work shirt that had a logo of a place called Waystation printed on it. I think it’s a car repair shop or something like that, but I’m not entirely sure. That could be a clue, though; maybe he works for them.”

“Waystation?” Calypso repeated, memorizing the name. “Alright, I’ll try to see if I find something with that name. Later. I’m not sure I’m mentally able to talk to him right now… I’m still a bit on the edge, to be honest.”

“Alright,” Reyna said understandingly. “If you want to, you can take care of the dishes for the rest of the day. I’ll deal with the customers.”

“Thanks,” Calypso said gratefully. “That would be good.”

“Hey, Cal?” Reyna asked tentatively, pulling her into a more private corner before she left for the dishes. “Are you sure you are OK? I don’t know, you have just seemed a bit off for a while now. Not just today.”

“Um, it’s nothing…” Calypso replied hesitantly, pretending to be interested in her hands. Reyna kept glaring at her suspiciously, though, so she continued: “Well, it’s not nothing, but… you know. It’s about /him/. I just heard the other day that the real reason why he broke up with me was because he wanted to date someone else. Yeah. Not the first time that has happened. I’m starting to get used to it.”

“Calypso…” Reyna said sympathetically. “I think I know what you’re thinking right now. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. You just… weren’t meant to be with him. Trust me, I know. I was pretty upset after I found out about Jason and Piper, but… it kind of forced me to think what I really want. And I realized that I can be happy even without a romantic partner. I’m not saying that’s your solution, but I’m saying that maybe there’s a reason why it didn’t work out with Percy. Maybe there’s someone else waiting to meet you.”

“Like who? That Bad Boy Supreme guy?” Calypso attempted to joke.

“Who knows, maybe even him,” Reyna said teasingly. The conversation ended there because a new customer was waiting for Reyna to serve her, and Calypso withdrew into the backroom to do the dishes.

…

After work Calypso laid down on her bed in her small studio apartment and decided to do some research on the mysterious Bad Boy Supreme. She searched for Waystation on her phone, learning that besides the car repairs they also sold flowers and had an animal shelter in the area. Checking the staff information, she hoped to find the names or even pictures of their employees so she could maybe progress with her search. However, it seemed they did not have up to date information on their workers on the website so instead Calypso decided to check where the place was located. It was only about a kilometer from their coffee shop, close enough that she could go there before or after work and ask for a Bad Boy Supreme. Deciding to do that the next day, she put her phone down and blew the frustrations of the day out of her system. Even though many things had not gone her way, she felt grateful that the people at her work were so supportive. It was very different from what she had gotten used to earlier in her life.

...

The next day Calypso had an evening shift at the coffee shop, but she decided to leave an hour early from her apartment so she could drop by Waystation on her way to work. It took a while for Calypso to find because the area was full of similar looking buildings and there weren’t a lot of signs around telling her where to go. Knocking the door, Calypso secretly hoped that the Bad Boy Supreme himself would open it so she could just get done with her business, but of course she wasn’t that lucky. The person showing up was an older woman, Calypso guessed probably in her 60ies, who looked fit for her age, though. The woman looked at her questioningly for a moment before finally saying: “Hello. How can I help you?”

“I am looking for a guy who presumably works here,” Calypso started. “At least, that’s what my coworker thinks. He visited our coffee shop yesterday and, um… there was this little incident I wanted to talk to him about. I don’t know his real name but he was probably around my age, kind of short, dark, curly hair, and he called himself ‘Bad Boy Supreme’. Does that ring any bells?”

“Oh, yes, I know who you are talking about.” The woman’s eyes flashed in recognition. “Did he get into some kind of trouble again? Goodness, he may be our best mechanic but he seems to be quite a trouble magnet…”

“Oh no, it isn’t like that. It was just an accident. I’m the one who’s here to apologize,” Calypso corrected her.

“Alright, then. I’ll get him now. You can come in to wait,” The woman said before disappearing further into the building. Calypso stepped inside and looked around curiously. It seemed like the people working at Waystation also lived there; from the hallway she could see a big kitchen and a stairway presumably to the bedrooms. On the walls there were pictures of two women (one of them Calypso recognized as the one who had opened the door) and a little girl looking happy to spend time together. There were also pictures related to their work: some of the nicer cars they had fixed and animals they had taken care of. Before Calypso had time to check them closer, though, the woman arrived with a young man following her. He seemed really surprised to see her.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it,” the woman said before going back to her work.

“You’re that girl from the coffee shop. What are you doing here? And how did you find me?” the ‘Bad Boy Supreme’ asked suspiciously once they were alone. He crossed his arms, giving him the kind of glare that told Calypso he wasn’t very happy to see her, and to be fair, she couldn’t really blame him.

Suddenly Calypso felt silly about having dashed into the guy’s workplace without a warning like some kind of stalker. “I… I, um, asked my coworkers if they knew you because my boss and I agreed that I should apologize for my behavior… and someone thought you probably worked here because you had this place’s name on your shirt… so, yeah, here I am. To apologize. I’m sorry. And I realize now how weird this is. You know, me coming here. But I still wanted to let you know that if you still want to visit our coffee shop, we’ll give you a free drink because you didn’t get what you asked for yesterday.” The guy listened to her intently. He seemed to try to determine if she was being sincere, and eventually he asked: “You sure you want me there? If I remember correctly, the last time you wanted me out of there even though it was an accident.”

“Hey, I’m trying to apologize here.” A flash of anger went through Calypso again, but she tried to bite it back. “I realize I wasn’t acting like a decent coffee shop barista should back then. If you want to, we can even have someone else serve you, but I mean what I say.”

Suddenly the ‘Bad Boy Supreme’ started laughing. Calypso just stared at him, feeling slightly offended, until he finally managed to speak.

“I’m sorry for laughing, but girl, you have guts. I mean this in a good way. Not all the people I know would have come here to apologize to me after that kind of incident. You wouldn’t have needed to do that, I think I would have just forgotten about the whole thing eventually. I’m kind of used to being yelled at, you know? But I appreciate you coming here.” Then he grinned at her. “You know what? I think I’ll accept your offer. I’ll come to your coffee shop tomorrow; today Jo is making me work on this really challenging yet beautiful car and I don’t think I’ll have time to leave the place. But I’d like you to be the one serving me because it’s your apology, right?”

“Are you always this annoying?” Calypso asked, not quite sure how she should react to his response. Luckily, the guy didn’t get offended by her question.

“Some people I know may say yes, but I myself say I’m annoying only when I’m nervous around a pretty girl.”

Calypso was surprised by the compliment. She had noticed that he hadn’t had that mischievous glint in his eye when he had said it, which probably meant he was being sincere. “Oh, OK... Thanks, I guess?”

“Welcome. Just saying what I think.”

Calypso felt a bit flustered all of a sudden and didn’t know how to respond to that so she ended up tugging a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and checked the time from her phone. “Well, I should get going now, but ask for a Calypso if you can’t see me when you come to our coffee shop.”

“Calypso?” the guy seemed to evaluate the name. “Aw, I thought Sunshine suited you better. Can I at least call you Calie? Or Cal?”

“Whatever floats your boat,” Calypso shrugged. “Um, sorry but I only have like 15 minutes until my shift starts so I really should go now. But I’ll see you soon.”

“Alright, see ya.”

When Calypso was already out of the building, she realized she had still not asked the guy’s name.

[ka-za-ri]

Descent Pt. 10 (Finale)

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚  IT’S TIME.

Hello! I would honestly really like to thank every one of you who’s read this and encouraged me during this long ride! It’s been a wild one and it’s been an honor to share this smutty smut fest to you all. I’m a little sad that it’s over, but hopefully after some time away from writing this fic I’ll come back and write one last bonus chapter. Because what’s my writing without boning a demon amirite?

Chapter Index and Obey Me! Masterlist: here Ao3 Mirror: Here Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10]

  Pairing: Simeon x Reader Genre: Angst, fluff, smut Wordcount: 7,100 ish   Tags: Angst, Fluff, Smut Summary: Accepting and confronting feelings come with the consequence of a fall.

Fall

You had fully intended to go home as usual after a session with Simeon. Even if the post coital cuddles were much desired and needed, he always kept business and personal relations separate. You knew better than to get too attached to the warmth and comfort of his embrace. It pained you to know he would always approach your relationship with a cool detachment and you expected things to be the same as usual this time as well.

The endorphins of such an intense session sedated the both of you, letting you fall into a comfortable doze for a bit. Simeon clung to you as he slept, rousing you from your slumber more than once as his arms wrapped around you tighter. He whimpered from time to time, twitching and clutching you tighter as if you could drive away whatever bad dreams he had. It was strange to see him so possessive, not that you minded. Even if it was only when he slept, he was at least comfortable enough around you to let down his guard a little bit. By the time you needed to leave and catch the last train home, his limbs were tangled with yours and there was no way to move without waking him up.

“Simeon, I have to go…” You protested, trying to pry yourself from him.

He groaned and only pressed himself against you more in his half-asleep state. “No.” He whined.  “Stay the night, please. I don’t want to be alone.” His voice was surprisingly quiet and it cracked at the end of his plea.

Your heart skipped a beat at his sudden confession and any desire you had to leave immediately disappeared. “Okay, okay. I’ll stay.” You reassured, patting his arm and his hold on you relaxed just a bit.

Simeon sighed in content and took in your scent when you agreed to stay. His breathing stuttered for a moment as he savored your warmth next to his own. In a rare moment of vulnerability, he allowed himself the chance to indulge in a show of affection. Normally, he would have brought up his walls and politely seen you off. Yet, something prevented him from doing that right away this time. Likely, it had to do with the burning feeling that settled in his chest earlier when he saw you being fucked by Lucifer. The image and the feeling refused to go away, causing him to be needier than usual.  

He couldn’t go back to the way things were before when he was simply asking you to do things for the sake of his book. It was impossible to deny that he had budding feelings he needed to confront. The consequences of being too deeply involved in the human realm laid heavily on his shoulders and he didn’t want to think about them when he had you in his arms. He need to recenter himself and stay rational while he tried to figure out a way to reclaim who he was before this all happened. To do that, his feelings had to be carefully locked away. Wearily, he brought up the walls around his heart once more even though your close proximity threatened to tear them down at any moment.

You turned over to look at him and noticed he still had the collar on. Carefully, you helped him out of it. Unbuckling the ornate clasp was surprisingly harder than you anticipated, especially since you didn’t want to hurt Simeon. When it was finally pulled away and thrown to the side, it was hard to not notice how he skin of his neck had been rubbed raw from receiving such rough treatment throughout the night. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, tentatively tracing the tender skin and he winced at the touch.

“Don’t be. I’m alright. I promise.”  He reassured, but there was no conviction behind his words. He pulled away from you, ignoring the throbbing around his neck from where the collar had sat for so long.

You decided to leave the issue for the time being. Simeon wasn’t a stranger to harming himself, the long scars on his back was proof of that. Why he thought such self punishments were necessary were beyond your comprehension and you couldn’t begin to think about how to comfort him whenever this habit of his came up. You only had a few canned, rehearsed words that everyone had been taught to say and countless empty promises that you could never keep. You wanted to believe he would reach out for help if he needed it; however, if you knew anything about Simeon, it was that he would never say what he wanted.

“Shall I draw you a bath?” he asked quietly after a long lull of silence. He was staring at a point just past your head, in a daze and not quite focused as he normally was. As if he noticed how zoned out he was, he blinked and made proper eye contact with you. “I’m sure you’re tired, and it’ll give me a chance to change the sheets so you don’t have to keep sleeping on the mess I made.” He smiled softly, already in the middle of getting out of bed to start running the water.

There they were again. Those walls you worked so hard break through had been rebuilt in the short time you had been nodding off in his arms. When you weren’t fully focused on him, he was pushing you gently to the side, distancing himself and the cool detachment was more than a little depressing for you. It felt like with every time you got him to open up, the more he closed off his feelings. You thought you had gotten somewhere when he asked you to stay, but it seemed to be a temporary lapse.

He beckoned you to the bathroom shortly after, the tub was already half full and you could smell the jasmine oil he had put in there to help ease the aches and pains away. If anything, you thought he deserved a bath more than you did, but he was adamant about attending to your needs first and foremost. “Please take as much time here as you’d like. I’ll get a robe for you in a bit.” He turned to take his leave but you stopped him, holding onto his hand and tugging him closer.

“Won’t you stay? You need to get cleaned up too, don’t you?”

He smiled, though the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. “Unfortunately, the tub is not large enough for two.” He reasoned.

Before you could further insist that he stay by your side, he was already through the door and off to change the sheets like he said he would.

You sighed, knowing you weren’t going to get anywhere else with him for the night and slipped into the bath. The hot water did wonders to your sore muscles. Whatever he put into it only aided in relaxing you to a point where you were quickly dozing off in the bath. Your mind was much more active than your body, replaying all the events that lead up to this moment. From the first hesitant time in that sunroom all the way to the moment he surrendered his body to you, your relationship and your feelings for him had only deepened.

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you as you mulled over the discussion you had with him so long ago, going through the things he was comfortable with doing and what he absolutely refused to do. Somewhere along the line, you had pushed aside his boundaries in pursuit of getting what you wanted out of your agreement. You ended up assuming that he desired you the same way you desired him. Upon this realization, it was no longer a wonder why you were being politely pushed away.

You lost track of how long you had been in the tub. Your disheartening thoughts pulled you down a deep rabbit hole where you analyzed every moment you shared, wondering where you had gone wrong and when you had become so inconsiderate. Your mind ran in circles while your body slowly shut down from exhaustion.

Simeon thought you died in the tub when he found you. Your torso was practically hanging out the side of the tub and you didn’t respond when he called your name the first time. To say he was relieved when he saw you twitch slightly after he called you again would have been an understatement. He sighed softly, setting the robe he brought in to the side and gently propped you up. “Come now, Little Lamb. You’ll catch a cold if you sleep like that.” He chided.

You blinked, clearing your bleary vision and grumbled at him, brushing his hands away. “Just a few more minutes.” You whined.

“The water is no longer warm, you’ll get sick if you stay in here any longer.” He was insistent, half dragging you out of the tepid water much to your dismay.

Simeon wrapped you in the largest towel he had, smiling softly the whole time you were turned away from him. The fluffy bath sheet smelled of lavender and something else you couldn’t quite place, but it was a familiar scent. You clearly did not seem to be in any state to properly care for yourself and he took it upon himself to properly dry you off. It wasn’t often he got to dote on you in the way he wished, and it seemed the only time he would get the chance was when you were barely conscious after being fucked out of your mind.

Seeing you barely able to stay on your feet, Simeon almost carried you back to bed. Stay distant. Do not meddle any further. Though he knew he was likely too far gone to return to the Celestial realm with any sort of good grace, he childishly thought it might not be too late to rectify his wrongs.

He took you by your hand, lead you back to bed and tucked you in. It took no time at all for you to fall asleep on the newly changed sheets. You hogged a majority of his pillows and the blankets, but he didn’t mind. Only when he was sure you were soundly asleep did he allow himself the chance to shower off the worst of the fluids which had caked themselves onto his skin. As he watched the water swirl down the drain, he wonder if he really stood a chance against Lucifer’s wiles and seduction. He couldn’t get the image of you being taken by another man out of his head no matter how hard he distracted from himself.

That dull, burning feeling spread across his chest once again. The ache of yearning for something he could never have consumed his being. And as the conflicting emotions warred within him, he sank into the corner of the shower, letting the water pelt at him until it ran cold. Even then, he didn’t feel like he he had the energy to drag himself out of the shower. The moment he left, he knew that he would need to decide between his devotion to you or to the…

~~

Gods were known to be all benevolent. He had experienced and executed the outcome of such goodness to many before. He thought, perhaps the gods would remember his good deeds and forgive his few misgivings in the human realm. After he finally pulled himself off the chilled floor of the shower and got dressed, he reached for the rosary tucked in the back corner of his night stand and knelt in reverence to the Heavenly bodies above.  

For the first time in a very long time, Simeon prayed before going to sleep. He pleaded for forgiveness and mercy. He prayed for a sign to save him from his inevitable fate somehow. Kneeling on the hard floor, he hoped his words could invoke the infinite benevolence of the Celestial realm to save his soul. He recited prayer after prayer, hoping that those above could excuse his lapses of judgment in his assignment to observe and understand humans. He was wrong, he had known that since the first time asked for your help. He had been so naive and confident, he had somehow lost his way.

Simeon had been so sure he could have anticipated the moment of his fall. He could have sworn all he had to do was abstain from defiling you. In his prayers, he apologized for being so simple minded, he confessed to the countless sins he committed onto your body without having tainted you. He had foolishly trusted himself too much and ended up falling for you in a way that was equally taboo.

Love.

He omitted his feelings from his prayers. If the other angels were watching, surely they would already know the truth behind his actions. It was all rooted in an intoxicating addiction to the temptation that was you. Outside of all the lewd acts, he adored you, cherished you and deeply wished he could give you the world on a platter if only he was allowed the chance to.

Yet his pride stood in the way. His stubborn need to cling onto what the Celestial realm deemed as divine kept him from sacrificing everything. Simeon hoped that his prayers would be heard as he implored the powers that be for forgiveness. If he received an answer, he could turn back. There was still time. His knees ached as he recited prayer after prayer. He hummed hymns and sang praises in a futile attempt to curry favor in his direction once more. He stayed in the corner of his room until the pain of kneeling became too much.

Ha, I must be getting old. I used to be able to do this all day...

He shouldn’t have been surprised when there was no reply from the heavens. It seemed that he was already beyond salvation in their eyes.  

If he had been a stronger man, he would have practiced decorum and slept in a separate room, or at least on the floor that night. However, Simeon was weak; weaker than he had ever thought he could be. His muscles and joints felt like they creaked when he finally got up and made his way to bed.

He was careful not to rouse you when he crawled feebly under the sheets and laid next to you. He could hear your deep breathing and the light snore coming from you as you slept soundly. Curling his body behind your own and wrapping his arms around you felt so right. Whatever resolve he had for keeping human temptations at bay dissolved as soon as you were in his arms and his own breathing evened out. The gods above had forsaken him, there was nothing left but to embrace the beautiful dreams that came whenever he was with you.

He would see you off in the morning, tell you how much he appreciated you and how much fun he had the night before. In a rare show of affection, he kissed your cheek and hugged you tightly before you set off for the day. He kept everything cordial and guarded his feelings close to his chest while you were still around him. As soon as you said your farewells and walked through his door, he felt his whole world fade into a grainy shade of gray. With every step you took, the color evaporated from his vision until there was nothing left but a dull monochrome.

Alas, it seemed the most disgraceful thing to the gods was the feeling of…

~~

Falling in love with Simeon was not something you expected when you first met him. Your intial impression when you first met him was that he did not fit your mental image of an author. You had expected someone much mousier and less refined. That first meeting changed your life. Not only did it begin your career, but it also planted a seed of affection deep in your heart for a soft spoken, eloquent, beautiful person. Pushing your feelings to the side had been easy enough in the beginning, you could pretend your infatuation was because of how star struck you were to work for the Christopher Peugeot.

Of course, you were young and naive to have thought those emotions would go away with time. Those budding feelings only took root and spread into what they were today. You were obsessed and hopelessly in love with a man who would never open up to you.

In the following days after you left, Simeon continued to distance himself. You didn’t blame him. You had a fair amount of thinking to do on your own. Life carried on as normal, or as normally as it could when there wasn’t a book being written. Simeon had requested a well deserved break from writing in order to brainstorm his next bestseller. There was the obligatory call that you had to make at the beginning of his break to ensure he would have something to present once his little vacation was over; but outside of that, you left him alone. It was likely for the best. Your one way infatuation with him had become an unhealthy obsession as of late and the distance would allow for you to properly sort your thoughts out.

You picked through a few freelance offers to edit short stories during the lull in your main work. It was boring and tedious, but it kept food on the table and your bills were paid on time. The shorter length and the sporadic nature of such work meant you had much more time to dwell on your thoughts. Without any outside influences like a nosy bartender or an overly familiar CEO, it was easier to sort out your feelings for Simeon and figure out how you wanted to proceed the next time you had a chance to meet him privately.

The fact that he still most likely had that chastity cage on his cock was not lost to you. Every time you thought about it, a pang of guilt ripped through your chest. You had done a fair number of things to push his boundaries and you couldn’t blame him if he hated you. There was a hollowness in his voice when he saw you off that rang in your head. You always thought his eyes had a bright life and joy to them, but if you thought too much about that day, you could recall how dull and dark they were even when he smiled.

You hated to think that you could be the reason why he was like that.

You wanted to contact him and maybe discuss things between the two of you, preferably without Lucifer. Your feelings and infatuation was with Simeon and no one else. After days of contemplating the events of your last session, you came to the conclusion that whether or not Simeon would fuck you was a negligible aspect of your relationship with him. You needed to stop pushing him and let him come to you when he was ready. Sure, it was frustrating when he didn’t express his needs, but you never considered that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t comfortable enough around you to do so.

He trusted his body to you. Upon reflection, it felt like you had taken everything he gave you for granted. The importance of his actions and words were all disregarded in favor of what you wanted. The guilt of such neglect ate at you from the inside. Now, the least you could do in repentance was respect his wishes and his need for space. You had expected him to reach out to you once his break started, but it had been a dead radio silence ever since he announced it. You worried about his well being constantly, checking your phone as soon as you woke and right before you went to bed for any messages. You caught yourself mindlessly refreshing your phone for hours on end, hoping that he would be the first to contact you.

Nothing.

Then again, you shouldn’t have been surprised when there was no reply to your wordless prayers.

The pain of distance you experienced now was a necessity. You needed to accept that and practice patience if you wanted to have another chance to make things right. The heartache from being so far apart for so long ate away at your soul, but you knew it was something that you deserved it. Day by day, as you continued to wait patiently, the color in your world drained away into a grainy shade of…

~~

Grey skies were common at the end of winter. They fit well with his outlook on life these days. Simeon walked a lot, now. He let his feet wander and take him to no goal in particular. It was an odd sort of meditation in a way and it let him clear his mind in a way that his home could no longer do. Every surface and corner of his abode reminded him of you. Getting out and breathing in the crisp, cold air cleansed his mind and his lungs.

He’d wander until he couldn’t feel his legs or his nose. At first, the cold winds whipped and cut his skin, making his lips crack and bleed if he spent too much time out. However, he got used to it quickly. The mixture of pain and peace brought him a calm that couldn’t be achieved elsewhere. He loved the soft quiet that came with snow. It muffled the sounds of the city as well as the sounds of his heart beating. The peaceful atmosphere soothed the frazzled edges of his mind and amplified the hollow feeling of loneliness in his chest.

Simeon didn’t take a heavy coat with him whenever he went out. A sweater was sufficient for his needs. He may or may not have received odd stares, but he couldn’t be bothered. None of those people mattered to him anyway. He only sought the approval of two beings and one of them had turned their back on him when he begged for a bit of forgiveness.

Winter was letting up slowly, giving way to chilly rains which soaked him to the bone whenever he took one of his long walks. He usually didn’t mind it, but when the rain became a downpour, he had no choice but to seek shelter somewhere until the worst of the storm was over. Looking at his surroundings, he could have laughed when he saw his feet had somehow taken him all the way to your neighborhood.

He had maybe visited you a handful of times since he first met you. It wasn’t often he got a chance to go see you considering your work revolved around him. He wanted to see you, he wanted to hear your voice and hold you. That desire was enough to make him take a step towards your door. As he got closer, he could hear a part of him tell him to turn away before he fell any deeper for you.

Unfortunately for that rational part of him, falling didn’t scare him anymore. With the Celestial Realm averting its gaze from him, he was free to accept the darkness that he willingly cultivated within himself. If anything, it meant he was allowed to feel something besides emptiness. He didn’t deserve the chance to see you again, but it did nothing to stop the desires

Simeon was knocking on your door before he realized what he was doing. His body seemed to move on its own when it knew you were close. You drew him towards you like a moth to a flame and he would be forever entranced by you. As your door opened, a gust of warm air washed over his body and the gray world around him shattered into a thousand brightly colored pieces. “I… I’m sorry, I just didn’t know where else to go.”

His voice sounded foreign to him, the most familiar thing he knew was your soft expression as you lead him indoors away from the cold.

“You’re lucky I was in the middle of getting a bath ready.”  you said as you hurriedly shuffled his soaked frame to the bathroom once his shoes were off. An inviting tub full of steaming hot water was waiting for him when you finally got him through the door of your bath room. He took a deep breath and the scent of sandalwood and oranges filled his lungs. He recognized it as the scent that always lingered on your clothes over your perfume. Just having his senses filled with something that reminded him of you warmed him much more than the balmy temperature of the bathroom.

“I think I have something that might fit you, if not I definitely have a robe.” you mumbled to yourself, already pulling out a spare towel out of a nearby cabinet for him. “Just leave the wet clothes on the floor, I’ll throw them in the wash for you when you’re done.”

You scurried off to dig through your closet in search for spare clothes, leaving him to him to his own devices. Simeon sighed, smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. Finally seeing you in person, he needed to accept just how much he missed you and just how whenever you were around, his world was…

~~

Colorful clothes of all sorts were strewn across your bedroom floor as you tried to find that over-sized sweater you swore you saw just the other day. You didn’t want Simeon to wear just a robe, the one you owned was likely too small for him, but it looked like you wouldn’t have a choice in that matter considering you didn’t think anything else you owned would fit him.

He had appeared at your door like the answer to your prayers. You were getting antsy from the dead air between the two of you and it had been shaping up to be another day of listlessly staring at your phone while you waited for a message. With the storm brewing outside, you had fancied a nice long bath to combat both the cold and the dreary weather. Just as you were ready to hop in, you heard the knocking at your door.

Seeing Simeon so drenched and pitiful broke your heart. It didn’t matter why, or how he had arrived at your abode, you immediately dragged him to the bath as soon as you could. He clearly needed it more than you. It also meant he deserved much better than a too small robe to wrap himself in after he was done soaking. Unfortunately, it seemed like there would be no other options considering you couldn’t find that damn sweater you were thinking about.

Tiptoeing back to the bathroom, you knocked softly before cracking the door open. “Hey, I found a robe, it… just might not fit you, sorry about that.” you apologized, feeling like a terrible host. You stuck your hand through the crack and laid the robe on the sink, ready to slink away and let him have his space. Even if you wanted to be near him, you needed to remind yourself that he would approach you when he was ready, you couldn’t rush or push him more than you already had.

You grew concerned though when he didn’t respond to your intrusion. Curiosity got the better of you and you pushed the door open a bit more to see if he was alright. The sight you were greeted with was not what you expected, to say the least.

Simeon sat in the tub, staring blankly at the tiles in front of him. He looked like he was in a daze, barely aware of his surroundings. Most concerning of all was the fact that he hadn’t even bothered to take his clothes off. He was still wearing the rain drenched sweater and faded jeans he arrived in.

“Simeon?” You called out to him, quietly padding closer to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep. He turned sluggishly and gave you the barest nod. The bright blues of his eyes was so dull and dark, you worried he had somehow gotten sick in the short time you had left him on his own.

Kneeling down next to the tub, you peeled off the sodden sweater off his torso, tossing the thing into the sink before looking down at his jeans. He didn’t say anything to you as you went through the clinical actions of stripping him for the sake of his comfort. Your hand brushed against the metal bindings around his cock and he let out a hiss, the first indication that he was really aware of what was going on around him.

“Simeon, are you--”

“I’m fine.” he cut in. “I’m fine.”

There was no conviction in his voice as he tried to reassure you. He repeated those words over and over again as if they were a mantra, mumbling them under his breath. “I’m fine...”

His voice cracked when he looked at you, unshed tears being barely held back. No matter how much he told himself that the Heavens didn’t care and all he had to do was just accept the fall, he couldn’t shake off the fear of the consequences. There you were, inches away from him, calling for him as if you could hear his desperate prayers for salvation.

If the Heavenly Father would no longer listen, he at least had you. With you, any consequence was bearable.

“I’m fine. As long as I’m with you...” He whispered, pulling you closer to him for a slow, tender kiss.

When his lips met yours, a warmth blossomed throughout him. The hollow ache in his chest was immediately filled with a pleasant fluttering that spread through his limbs. Your unique aroma overpowered the perfume of sandalwood and oranges in the water. The cloying combination made him dizzy and drunk with his affection for you. The smell would forever be connected to the last temptation that made an angel fall.

His cradled the back of your head as he kissed you like it was the first time. The taste of your lips was sweeter than the ripened celestial peaches that immortals coveted so much. He breathed out slowly through his nose before taking a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of love and his impending fall from grace.

You moaned softly against his lips, gasping for breath from how tender yet passionate it had all been. He took that moment to swipe his tongue across your lower lip before delving into the caverns of your mouth and deepening the kiss even further. The sounds Lucifer elicited from you would be nothing compared to the songs he would get you to sing under his touch.

When he finally broke the kiss on his own terms, your lips were swollen and glistened with his saliva. The light in his eyes had returned and you noticed the familiar hard glitter of desire in them. He pulled you into a tight embrace, half dragging you into the tub with him to kiss the rest of your face and whatever skin he could get access to. You squealed in surprise, stumbling to keep your balance and pressed yourself against him. His breath was hot against your ear as he continued to press his lips everywhere he could. “I… I want you… Will you have me?”

You could barely believe what you heard. You wanted to pull away and look at him properly, but his embrace was strong and held firm. The kisses he laid on your skin traveled down your neck and you held back a shudder when he brushed across a sensitive spot. “I… is this what you want?”

“More than anything.”

He let you have a bit of distance so you could look at sincerity in his expression. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his voice and the glitter of desire in his eyes had changed into a bright flame of lust. There was no way you could deny such a request. You had been waiting for him to say those words for so long. The weight of guilt on your chest crumbled away and there was nothing but elation left. All the anxiety, all the waiting, all of the trials and tribulations was so worth it for the moment he earnestly asked to be with you.

“Then you shall have me.”

The smile that spread across his lips was surely divine. No one should be allowed to be as beautiful as he was. Simeon could barely believe you had agreed. He knew he didn’t deserve you; but now, he had all the time in the world to persuade you otherwise. Heavens be damned, he loved you and he had the freedom to show you exactly what that meant to him.

Removing your partially wet clothes felt like unwrapping the best present in the world. He felt like he was truly seeing you for the first time. He memorized every detail of your body with his lips, followed by his fingers. Your soft, breathy moans would be emblazoned in his mind for the rest of his life as the most holy of hymns.

He was loathed to be separated from you for any amount of time; but your knees were beginning to ache from kneeling, your position was less than ideal, and the tub was much too small to fit both of you. Begrudgingly, he let you go, only to usher you to your room with a gently wave of his hand.

“Just a moment, Little Lamb. I will follow shortly.” He reassured, his voice syrupy and low. The promises that it held sent a shiver down your spine. You hurried to the room as he directed, eagerly divesting the rest of your clothes as soon as you got the chance to.

He arrived in your room shortly after as he promised. The robe you had given had been unnecessary as he opted to have a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. Even then, that was about to be a frivolous exercise in modesty as he tossed it to the side the moment he saw that you were also nude. In the dim light of your room, the metal cage he so obediently wore glimmered and the familiar feeling of guilt rushed through you.

You beckoned him over to you and you swore he purposefully put a little extra sway in his hips as he approached you. The bed dipped with his added weight and you immediately pulled him into another round of slow, sensual kisses. Now that there were no clothes in the way, you were free to explore his body just as much as he did to you.

It felt like a dream to share your bed with Simeon. You had only fantasized about the possibility of something like this happening. The moment was made more magical knowing he sought you out. He had been with you enough times to know exactly where to touch you in order to draw a moan from the back of your throat. However, there was a sort of intimacy this time around that couldn’t be denied. “Wait… Wait...” you breathlessly put a pause on everything to rummage through the drawer of your night stand.

Pulling out the tiny key to the lock on the cage, you were quick to undo the damned thing and toss it to the side. It had seemed like a great idea at first when Lucifer subtly suggested it, however it had brought nothing but anguish and guilt in the end for you. You were glad to be rid of it, the accursed thing clattered to the ground as you carelessly tossed it to the side before refocusing on the man before you. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long now...”

“And I’ve wanted you for so long.” He replied smoothly, pushing you down onto covers and resuming his ministrations. Having his cock freed from those dreaded confines meant he was free to take you as he wished. His resolve wouldn’t waver, not when he was already forsaken and he was staring love in the face. He felt like he was being reborn every with every second that passed.

Simeon’s knee pressed between your legs and you eagerly spread yourself wider for him. He contemplated for a brief moment the idea of burying his head between your legs and tasting you until you were a shivering mess from his tongue. However, the need to sate himself and lay his claim in you overrode his desire to tease you.

His hands smoothed down your thighs before he hooked your legs around his waist. “I want you. I want you. I want you so much.” He leaned forward to kiss your neck, your chest, your collarbones, your shoulders, everywhere he could get access to before his patience snapped and he finally, blissfully pressed the tip of his cock to your entrance.

Simeon took his time, watching your expression change as every inch of him sank into you. He let out a long, guttural groan when he finally, blissfully, bottomed out inside of you. You were his sun, his moon, his stars. You were all that was good and was divine to him. He would happily desert the kingdom of gods to make you his paradise. Without you, he wouldn’t have fallen. Without you, he had no reason to live.

“Oh God, Simeon.” You whined, your eyelids fluttered as he filled you. You knew he would have taken his time, but you didn’t expect him to slide in so excruciatingly slowly. He made your body feel every ridge and vein of his cock, forcing it to memorize his shape and size, molding your cunt to fit him and only him forevermore.

“There is no God, there’s just me.” He seethed at the mention of the Heavenly Father. “There’s just me and you, and what I’m going to make you feel.”

Simeon was everything you had imagined he would be and more. He was so attentive, sweet and he knew just how to make you moan. His cock hit every spot within you that made you see stars. Though the pace he started off was languid and slow, he was quick to pick up speed when he saw just how positively you reacted to deeper and harder thrusts. It seemed like he effortlessly had you clutching onto the sheets below you and crying out for him.

“Mine.” He growled, slamming his hips into you. “Mine.”

He wouldn’t let anyone else interfere. He had made his decision and he would make sure that you could never desire anyone else ever again. His kisses turned into bites, leaving intents and marks across your body as he laid his claim. He gave everything to be with you and the feeling of being so intimately connected with you was divine.

The way you moaned his name as he railed you was unlike any other. It was his name that fell from your lips. Not some other man, not some unintelligible babbling. You were calling for him every time his cock slid home and filled you to the brim.

His desire to see you dripping with his seed only increased every time you begged him to go harder. Simeon was more than happy to comply with your wishes, letting the sound of skin slapping against skin echo in your room. The smell of sandalwood and oranges was soon overtaken by the scent of sex as you met every one of his thrusts with a roll of your hips.

Sweat plastered his hair to his face, his breath came out in heavy pants and he could feel how close you were to your climax every time you clenched around his length. “Ah, Little Lamb, will you cum for me, soon?” He asked sweetly against your ear.

“Yes, soon.” You confirmed, wrapping your legs around him tightly, urging him to keep going. Finally being filled with him was an absolutely transcendent experience that you wanted to last forever. You were afraid that the moment it was over, he would once again return to holding you politely at arms distance. It all felt like a dream to you and you didn’t want to wake up. “Fuck, Simeon! Ahhh~”

It seemed as though your body had other ideas. With how Simeon rubbed against your inner walls, you couldn’t last for the eternity you wished for. You screamed his name as your climax overtook you, the edges of your vision going white from the intensity of it. Frantically, you pulled him towards you for heated kisses as you rode out the high of your orgasm. Your walls fluttered around his cock, milking him encouraging him to follow you into bliss.

He wasn’t far behind you. The way you pussy hugged him and pulled him even deeper into you was all the encouragement he needed to finish the deed. His pace stuttered and he rammed himself home, once, twice, thrice before holding your hips still as he spilled his load into you.

Outside, the rain storm had turned to snow. A quick, bleary glance over at your window and you could have sworn the big, fluffy flakes looked like thousands of white feathers falling from the skies. Simeon groaned in content and exhaustion, feeling the last vestiges of what divinity he had leave him only to be replaced with an all consuming devotion to you.

He collapsed gracelessly on top of you, unwilling to depart from the warm confines of your pussy as he reveled in the feeling of his fall. You caught him him, cradling him against your chest and waited patiently for him to ride out his own high. “I love you.” he murmured softly, getting up just enough to kiss your forehead softly.

“I’ve wanted to hear you say that for so long.” You admitted, your cheeks warming at the affectionate gesture. “I love you, too.”

“Say it again.” he demanded, kissing your forehead again. “Say it again and again and again. Never stop saying it.”

“I love you.” You reiterated, giggling and rolling over so you were laying on his chest. “I love you, I love you.”

“And I love you, my Angel.”

The descent to Hell was a long one, but as long as you caught him when he Fell, it was worth it.

[enochianribs]

until it no longer hurts. (cabin/wing fic). read it here, or under the cut.

(accompanying playlist / aesthetic board (thanks @disableddean)

CHAPTER 3. (formatting is lost via tumblr text post fyi)

ch.1 / ch.2

As he lays there, unconscious to the world, and all those things that go bump in the night, his life sorts itself cleanly into two: before and after—   not for the first time.

In fact, there were several times before this. There was before the fire, before the loss of his mother, before John started hunting, before Jess died, before Sammy went to rehab, before Dean picked up that knife. 

Before before before.  

The question has hung in front of him for quite some time now.

What happens after? 

What happens to him, when all is said and done?

The bed is warm and soft and he sinks into it. A hand presses against his chest, pins him down and muscle memory tells him to go for the knife, fingers flexing outward and then curling in, his nails catching on the sheet. 

This is safe. 

Here in this moment, no one can touch him. The tiny flowers on the sheets molt before his eyes, little petals rising out of the fabric and blooming. They're feather light against his bare skin, and the weight of his body is crushing them. He makes a noise of upset, and a hand comes down to press a finger to his mouth, hushing him gently. 

<It's okay.> 

Slowly, he wakes. The warmth from the finger still lingers against his lips, but the bed is hard where his face presses against it, eyelashes fluttering, his eyes open just a crack. The wood of the table greets him, and the sunlight is just now poking through the blinds once again, casting the same lines across the pine knots, along the curves of his outstretched forearm and across where his head faces towards the sun. 

"It's okay." He murmurs, and for an incredibly brief moment he is perplexed by why the words slip from between his lips, until one of his knuckles grazes bare skin. 

His evening comes back. 

Before. 

Before Wings. 

Slowly, Dean sits upright, suddenly entirely aware of the being lying on his table, and his heart beats in his mouth and his fingers catch on something, pulling him even further from the comfort and haze of his dream. He ducks his head in, looking down at where his hand is stuck. His fingers are still woven between Wings', his own a shade lighter.

Dean sits very still.  

He’s afraid to make a sound and wake him up, so he stays there for a moment, assessing the situation he’s willingly walked himself into.

The stranger’s chest rises and lowers every few seconds, almost imperceptibly so.  The gauze is brown from oxidized blood, but it doesn't appear to have been soaked through in the night, proving Dean's improvised medic work satisfactory. The stitches held. 

Huh, Dean thinks. He should be thankful for the live or die experiences thrust upon him by his father's recklessness. 

Half the time, Dean's afraid he took pages out of John's book.

And that would be okay. Well, it wouldn’t—  but he—  he could cope with that. He could work through it. He’s beginning to understand that even as the world ended, it would still spin, and day would come and the night would consume and he’d be okay. 

It’s unspeakably comforting, the feeling of fingers tucked between his own, the way Dean’s calloused palm presses against another, like a bond is forming quietly between a man waking from his dream and another still ensnared. 

“It’s okay.” Dean says one more time, the words an impulse.

Wings stirs, his upper lip twitching a hairsbreadth, and Dean braces for the cry of pain that always comes with waking, even if it’s not aloud. Anticipating the event horizon of his world ending with Wings consciousness, Dean grabs a glass of water, and the bottle of alcohol, and a rag before coming to stand next to his head, his thighs pressed against the edge of the table. 

He stares down at him, and his head feels clearer than it did last night. The stranger’s hair is unruly, unkempt, and Dean can’t tell how long it’s been like that—  how long this winged man has been living in the forest. The locks are nearly as dark as his wings, but the sunlight exposes their truthful deep brown color. It’s tangled here and there, and Dean has to try and restrain himself from carding his fingers through it to work out the knots. A residual caretaking instinct he has had yet no luck fighting.

When they were kids, Sammy always refused to brush his hair, and it was never really a problem when it was just him and Sam. But school begged a shred of presentability from the two, lest child services were called, so he kept up Sam’s appearance for him. Dean kept them fed, schooled, he took care of them both, though Sam always came first. 

Should have always come first. 

Now Dean’s here with someone else’s blood under his fingernails, and there’s a hunter on the loose who probably has it out for them both. And he’s not even a real hunter. He's just some guy with a gun and a penchant for killing things.

    Dean’s officially in over his head. 

Dark smudges look like they’ve been pressed underneath his eyes with two uncaring thumbs, and a distinct line of his cheekbones drags in a swoop across either side of his face. His lips are full but chapped and Dean wonders why he cares, but the urge to dab a spot of lotion against them nearly overpowers him. 

He’s trying hard to ignore the wings. 

There’s finding a human man and then there is finding a man with wings, real wings, with muscle and tendons and quivering feathers, and yep there it is, that edge of panic. 

The word hangs over his head but Dean refuses to use it. His mother’s bedtime stories aren’t real.

Demons are. He knows that now, though they are few and far between. But the a-- no. 

Dean shakes his head.

There's never been any proof. 

He rocks his weight from foot to foot, debating his best course of action. Minutes pass, but the man doesn’t stir again, so finally Dean sucks it up and takes his hand and pats it against his cheek, gently. His skin feels rough against the surprising softness, even the barest hint of stubble is nearly feather soft.  

He comes to sit on the edge of the table.

“Hey.” He murmurs, uselessly.  “Wake up?”

Please wake up.

Wings’ head moves, only slightly, pressing against his hand. Dean freezes like a deer in headlights, caught touching when he should have only been looking. Heat crawls up his cheeks and his stomach flips. 

“Fucking hell, Dean.” He mutters, pulling his hand away and he cocks his head, unsure if he really heard a quiet, sad noise leave the man still lying seemingly unconscious on his table. 

A warm, steady hand snakes out and grabs his wrist. Dean swallows his own quiet noise. It takes everything to look up again, scared of what he’s going to see.

When they lock eyes that fear melts.  

Wings flexing underneath his back, extending as far as they can go until the longest feathers graze the floor and the farthest tip brushes the wall near the dining table, the stranger looks up at him with clear eyes. His lips move rapidly, as he soundlessly repeats something over and over. One side of his face clenches up in pain as he tries to sit up.

Dust particles drift from the rafters like nothing is amiss, little bokehs proving that what Dean sees is real. He still doesn’t believe it.  

“Hey, hey, hey,” he keeps his voice low, holding his breath and extending his hands, palms out, as a friendly act. “I’m not—  I’m not gonna hurt you, just, you gotta let me get—” 

    Before Dean’s fingers even lift the bandaging to inspect the damage, there’s a forearm against his throat, and he’s pinned against the table by strong arms and they form an iron cage to hold him there. Two strong legs straddle him. Whatever he was going to say dies in his throat. 

    “Wings—” 

    The stranger barks something out, the syllables harsh and completely foreign, staring down at Dean with a combustion-prone concoction of fear, confusion and leftover adrenaline mixing behind the blue. 

    “Please I—” 

The arm presses against his windpipe even harder, and Dean meets the icy stare. Wings tilts his head, and his eyes narrow, his lips hanging open slightly, like he wants to say something. 

“I’m trying to help you.” 

    The pressure lessens a fraction, and Dean takes the opportunity to whip his arm up, hand sliding between him and Wings’ own, and he pushes him away and back a short inch, but it’s enough to throw the smaller man. Finally free, his throat drags in a breath but he doesn’t plan on giving wings another opening, so he brings his knee up from under the other man, using it as a brace to prevent him from overpowering him again. 

    He says the first thing that flies through his pea-brain. “Who are you?” Lord help him, he may just be the stupidest man alive. “What do I call you?” Asking him to introduce himself seems like the dumbest possible direction for the scene playing out. 

    With the quilt long gone, the stranger is fully indecent again, and Dean’s trying very hard to ignore it, because it’s the icing on the unreal cake. Fire creeps up his cheeks regardless and Dean squirms. 

A black arm brings itself up and around Wing’s body curling as though it was a protective stance. It reminds him of a knight with a shield. Everything else about his posture screams prey animal, and Dean can tell when the ghost of a fight is reverberating through someone’s muscle memory.

What the fuck did Campbell do to him? 

To top it all off, Dean realizes he did a terrible job of cleaning the blood away from his mouth. The blue takes over his eyes as his pupil’s become pinpricks of something primal and it doubles with the dried blood smeared down the hollow of his throat. 

“Hey,” Dean’s voice is low and shaking and he feels just like he did when he spent all those years helpless, just a child yanked around. “Stay with me. C’mon.” 

The wing lowers, and as it does so it catches the light, and the entire wing is made up of feathers that look just like the ones sitting on his mantle, an oil slick in sunshine. Without thinking, Dean brings his hand to his thigh and squeezes it, thumb digging into the meat of it. The touch is meant to be grounding, though he’s not sure who for.

“You know me.” He hums, in a futile effort to comfort him. 

A flip must switch in the stranger’s mind, because he nods suddenly, pulling his weight off of Dean and settling down on his own legs, his wings larger than life, spread out in the room.

“Dean.” He says, and it sounds reverent, his voice rough, the syllable catching in his throat. He doesn’t seem to notice, but fresh scarlet blooms across the bandage. “Dean.”

Dean stays as still as a statue and he can’t recall ever saying his name, though that’s usually how it goes for most anything. Words pour out of his mouth ceaselessly, and he’s always embarrassing himself, dumping his scattered thoughts on poor unsuspecting souls: hey, did you know that Led Zeppelin were tolkien fans? Simply because he’d seen someone had walked past wearing a Tree of Gondor shirt. 

But Dean doesn’t remember saying his own name. His fathers harsh words rattle around inside his mind: kill first, figure out what it is later.

This thought has to wait, though, because the bullet wound seems to have caught up to him, and Wings slumps forward, his entire body going limp in Dean’s arms, his wings thumping down against the table. Dean drags his hands up his back, until his fingers are buried in the downy feathers that molt into his shoulder blades. Dean can’t be certain, but he feels warmer than last night, like he’d been sleeping next to a fire. 

Fuck, fuck fuck.

Dean has no idea how to treat an infection, not really. He can try and prevent one from happening, sure—  he’s done that what feels like hundreds of times. But if the infection takes hold it’s out of his hands and he’s going to be left with a dead winged man on his table, or a possibly alive winged man forced into the spotlight. 

Dean presses his fist to his mouth, and his body feels like a bow-string pulled too taut, threatening to snap. There’s no one who can help, and there’s no one he trusts.

    Dean sits there for nearly thirty minutes, ignoring where his friend’s blood has stained his shirt. The cabin smells like iron, and like feathers, which he hadn’t realized was a distinct scent until it filled up the room. His phone sits in his hands. 

    The texture of the rug on the floor blurs with the sound of the ragged breathing next to him. 

    His phone rings.

    His fingertips burn where they touched his warm, soon to be cold thigh.

    It rings again.

    “Hey.” Dean expects Sam’s voice on the other end, and blinks, confused when he’s greeted with a familiar short drawl that he can’t immediately place.  

    “Missouri says he’s gonna be fine, kid.”

    The voice belongs to Pamela. 

    “Who?” Dean stands up abruptly. Is she outside?

    “Your birdman.”

    Dean doesn’t acknowledge the remark. “Who?”

    Once again, Dean is privy to a conversation happening away from the phone. It sounds like another woman talking, and she sounds annoyed. 

    “Oh. Missouri. The ol’ wife.”

    “Wife?” He runs a quick calculation in his head and then raises his eyebrows. That tracks. 

    “Dean Winchester, are you listening to me.”

    Uh, no? 

“Yeah, yeah okay. I heard you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

    Whatever she thinks she knows, she better not.

    Something that sounds, in a honey sweet and dainty voice, like ‘Give it here’ comes from the other end and then she’s speaking to him directly. 

    “Dean Winchester?” She asks.

    “Speaking.”

    “Mmkay, good. You better listen up, sweetheart because he’s gonna be fine, but I’m still sending Pam your way. She was a nurse before she retired early, so whatever is wrong with the wound, she should be able to help.”

    For once, Dean is rendered speechless, and utterly, utterly confused. 

    “You still there?”

    “Yeah.” Dean croaks. “Yeah, I’m still here.” He looks over at where Wings is laying. His skin should look sunkissed, but instead beads of sweat form along his tendons, and they’re pulled tight, his body tense even if he’s out cold. “How do you know about him?”

    “Pamela and I… we share some unique gifts. But that shouldn’t concern you right now. You’ve got a fallen angel dying in your living room. She’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, alright?” She doesn’t wait for his response. “Go dig up some of Rufus’ old stash. The good stuff.”

    “Why?” He feels deeply out of the loop. 

    “To calm your nerves. I can feel them from here. Alright now, I’m gonna hang up. Sit tight until she gets there.” 

▵▿▵

Knuckles rap against the door, and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin. From the time it took him to hang up to Pamela showing up at his door it had started to rain again. This time the storm was black, and he had a feeling there would be no sunset, just the dimming of the sky until the charcoal was pitch. He flips the porchlight on as he opens the door. 

Pamela’s black hair is caught under the strap of an army green duffel bag, and the rain drips down her forehead and off her chin, smearing her smokey eye shadow slightly. Standing next to her is a woman Dean hasn’t met yet. She stands tall, and if there is a height difference between her and Pamela, he can’t tell. Her ringlets are just as soaked as her wife's and her dark eyes catch the yellow of the porch light. Inexplicably, they're warm, and Dean lends himself to trusting them. 

“The psychic forgot her umbrella, huh?” Dean asks, stepping aside to let them in. 

Missouri makes  a face. 

“I was gonna say you’re the prettiest thing in these hills but…” Whatever she was going to say, dies as she takes in the sight strewn across the dining table. 

Pamela sets her duffle bag down in one of the seats pulled away from the table and then her arm goes limp as she stands there. Missouri stops by her side, the fingers of her hand trailing her arm until it rests stationary by Pamela’s, their pinkies intertwining. 

“Seeing and believing are truly two different things.” Missouri sounds almost reverent.

“Yeah.” Dean breathes, and, actually, he gets that. “Earlier, on the phone you called him a…” 

“An angel.”

There are a million questions he could ask but he settles on one. “How do you know?”

Pamela tears her gaze away for just a moment, to look over her shoulder at Dean. “That’s a long story for another night. Right now, we have an angel to save. You look terrible, by the way.”

“Mmhm. Dead on your feet. There’s nothing you can do to help right now. We’ll take care of your angel.”

“Have you eaten anything since you found him?” Pam asks. The duffle bag zipper slices through the ambient silence between words, and she rifles through it for a solid minute before she finally produces a pair of tweezers and what looks to be military grade cotton balls with a pleased grin.

His stomach makes a pathetic noise in response, however instead of making a move to eat something, he's standing there staring validly, wondering why these two women who live in the middle of nowhere are completely calm about Mr. Comatose being heaven sent.

It’s fairly obvious from the way their backs are turned to him now, heads leaning in close until they're almost touching so they can whisper in confidence, that he isn’t going to get any answers tonight. 

The exhaustion hits him like a tidal wave, breezing through his muscles, seeping straight into his bones and burrowing in his marrow. Pamela seems to have some left over hospital grade drugs in her nursing kit, and his new friend is completely subdued under the quiet blanket of sleep. 

“Dean.” He tears his gaze away from the middle distance, where it had gotten comfortable to see Pamela watching him, her eyes narrow with concern. “I don’t want to have to take care of you next. Eat something and get some rest. You’ve done enough. We’ll be out of your hair once we’re done.”

Dean shouldn’t trust them. But he does. He doesn’t have any other choice. Shuffling around, he shows Missouri the outlets, where Rufus’s first aid-kit (nearly an end-of-days cold war quantity) stash is shoved into the top three shelves of one of the three storage closets. Missouri promises to lock up and leave the key under the worn-through doormat, and Dean nods sleepily. 

Missouri pats his cheek, and for the briefest of moments, Dean misses home. He misses Sammy. His life had never been simple or easy or even nice, but at least it had been predictable. 

“He’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

▵▿▵

When he wakes, he’s in his bed and sleep-drunk, and there’s an empty space to his side, a starless void that he’d never been able to fill. In his living room lies the moon, and the stars, and the hopeful sliver of himself wonders if even the sun can be found there as well. The cabin is peaceful, a comforting fog of quiet wrapping him up. Sleep drags him under again, and he goes willingly. 

[shibarirobot]

Aizawa Fic - CH2 - Entrapment

+18 Only SFW (for now)

Shouta Aizawa x Villain!OC/Reader (?)

CH1

Above is the link to the first chapter that I wrote for this fic. Please read that one first if you havent, but I’ll give a quick summary anyways.

The main character is a villain holding up a bar that seems to have shady activites being facilitated out of it. Their crew is indisposed at the moment. Eraser Head has just shown up. - That’s basically all. Also their quirk has to do with electro magnetic frequencies.

(italics are other characters thoughts)

Enjoy!~

I suck in a breath behind parted lips. I wasn’t expecting this. I know I should be sweating. Someone who won't easily fall prey to my cerebral attacks, but instead I can't help the trace of a smile on my face. A real smile. I might actually get hurt here. Neither of us speak for an extended moment as we assess each other. I’m watching the black hair floating around his head and framing his furrowed brow, when I notice something about myself, the ringing has stopped. The pulse behind my eyes, the one that never stops, has vanished completely. There is a void in my head where the tangle of noise and thoughts had once lived. I’m taken aback and that's all he needs to launch at me. Jumping at me and shooting his capture weapon out to grip my limbs at the same time.

I don’t get the foreboding sense that I usually have, nothing to predict his movements. He’s in my face quicker than I could have imagined, but I’m still quick enough to throw myself backwards immediately. My back hits the wall and it seems as if I’m cornered. A helpless animal caught in a trap. The hardened scarf around his neck didn’t have the chance to grip onto me, yet the material still nicked into the skin at my wrists, drawing warm blood to the surface. I hiss, but am otherwise unfazed. Blood is blood. Nothing I haven’t seen before. My weapon however, skitters to the ground, out of my reach. I look into his eyes, so close and draw my knee up quickly, connecting it with his chin and kicking him away in two quick movements. I don't have much upper body strength, but I have a practiced kick style that works for me when I do have to fight, hence the weighted boots, helps with impact. For the most part I don’t have to use it. My quirk takes care of most of my hero encounters. But this is no encounter, this is a battle with Erasure Head. 

Eraser Head stumbles back slightly, but quickly regains his footing, shifting and lunging at me once more. I push myself off the wall at an angle, hoping to dodge past him to the left, but he’s too fast. His scarf snakes out to the side and wraps up, around my calf. I slam to the ground and grunt, the wind knocked from my lungs. Fuck, I think I heard a crack. I wheeze and roll to my side, pushing myself back onto my feet with one hand. He’s ready for that though. The scarf wrapping around my neck and holding me in the air. I'm completely at his mercy and I can feel my rib throb, I definitely broke one of them. My smirk is back, teasing myself at this precarious situation. My fingers come up and slide across the hard material protruding from my throat, languidly stroking back and forth. “You like choking me?” His glowing eyes widen for half a second, but his face remains hard, barely letting me know he’s affected. “You do, don’t you?” He breathes slowly, air pushed out of this decompressing lungs. “Yeah. You do.” I say it matter of factly. It’s a statement. He likes choking me. “Choke me harder.” As soon as the last syllable rolls off my tongue the scarf squeezes tight, actually blocking my blood flow, but not crushing my windpipe, it’s so hot. I moan. I don’t mean to really, it's just so right. I close my eyes and let the light, airy feeling of oxygen deprivation wash over me, the smirk still plastered on my face, resigning myself to being captured. 

That’s when it happens, all the pain that had fallen from my head comes crashing back to me, the roar of noise that had grown normal immediately etching away the placid contentment that had taken me just moments before. I scream back to life and force myself into his mind, my feet falling back to the ground as my eyes slowly open again, tears leaking down the side. It had been so quiet. He’s leaning against the wall, eyes screwed shut. I wanna fry his brain, screw him up so bad that he’ll never form coherent sentences again, but then I look at him for real. His hair is playing across his painstricken face and I just wanna reach out and rub my hand across the scruff on his jaw. I want to feel him. He’s the only reason the pain has ever stopped. An urge like the one with the necklace, one I can’t ignore because it comes to me so quickly, raptures my body and I slide my hand up his neck and onto the side of his face. His eyes are still closed as he focuses on staying upright against the wall. My thumb trails over his bottom lip and even I’m stunned at how bold this feels. I lean up close to him, my chest inches from his, and whisper near his neck. “For the record, I liked it too.” I push off the wall and run out into the alley, sprinting towards the street, desperate to get into a crowd and disappear. 

A tingle runs down my spine. He’s chasing me. My cheeks tighten as I smile wider. I must be important if he’s abandoning the room full of citizens and a slumped hero to chase after one villain. I've barely even made a name for myself. My reputation must be growing quickly if they’re this persistent. I flick my wrist out, using a street lamp to swing myself around, facing the direction I had just been running from. If I keep running, he’ll capture me. I know I’m fast, but Eraser Head is so much faster. I see a flash of white and spring sideways, his capture weapon tunnels into the asphalt where I had just been standing. My eyes widen, that would have gone straight through me if I hadn’t moved. I whip my head in his direction, or in the general direction of where I assume he would be considering the angle at which the scarf shot at me. “Hey!! That could have killed m-“ I am unprepared to see him right in front of my face, dropping from the roof overlooking the alley, he had been above me the whole time. My words are cut off as a hard fist makes contact with the side of my jaw and I’m thrown into the brick wall next to me with so much force my eyes cross a little. Damn, I must have really pissed this fucker off. A quiet, involuntary groan pushes itself from my lungs, bringing me back to my surroundings and I can feel that damn capture weapon coiling around my body and squeezing me tightly. I’m bound and unable to move, but it’s not painful, like being caught in a hug by someone a little too excited to see you. I wiggle a little, knowing it’s in vain, then let my head fall to the side, resigned. 

He still has me facing the wall, but I can feel his presence behind me. The noise has gone again and I know that means his eyes are glued to me, I feel suddenly vulnerable. I feel his body warmth behind me, the only indication that he’s close to me, he doesn’t even have a smell. My head lulls to the other side and I giggle deep in the back of my throat when I feel long, adept fingers tangle into the hair at the back of my neck. He spins me in his arm and now I’m staring into his glowing eyes. He’s so close, so close and all I want to do is roll my body against his. I’m not sure why, but I’m so drawn to him, so enamored by the cruelty he shows toward me. My hips buck on their own, trying to get closer to him. My body is still wrapped up tight, so I barely move, just enough for him to see my motive and the grating hunger behind my eyes. He still hasn’t said a word and it feels like my lungs are on fire, not wanting to breathe and break the moment, our eyes are locked together and I swear I see something in them. Something changes, like he stopped looking through me and finally sees me for the first time. That… something vanishes as quickly as it came and he’s looking at me like a villain again, a low down scumbag. 

His flat hand comes speeding at me from thin air and there’s a loud, hollow ‘smack’ that hangs in the air as my cheek blooms with pain. Ow. He just hit my face. I wasn’t prepared for that and I release a mewl that sounds utterly ridiculous, so needy and weak. This is not me, I don’t beg anymore, I take. I can’t start begging for this man in a back alleyway, even if I can feel my body warming from my core. He slaps me again, softer time, just to get my attention. “Who do you work for?” His voice is low and threatening. A chill runs down my spine and settles below my stomach, landing in a strange place that prompts me to wet my lips and stare into his eyes even more intensely. 

‘Who do you work for?’ He asks. He doesn’t know. That’s good at least, the pros don’t know. They know nothing about me or my motivation. They must not even know why I’m here. I pocket that information and smirk again. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Eraser?” It’s a question, but rhetorical. He just grunts and hits me again, still not very hard, but forcing me to blink a few times as my eyes refocus. “Hit me again.” He does, hard. I hadn’t expected him to listen to me. A real moan drops from my lips, one you would probably hear in an adult film, it's loud and sensual, ripping from my vocal box. “Fuuuuck. Maybe we should fight more often.” My tongue slips out to lick my lip and I watch his eyes follow the trail of saliva that it leaves on my flesh. His eyes darting to my lips, then back to my eyes, and down again. His hand raises, like he’s going to hit me again, but he stalls. I suck in a breath, tensing in anticipation for the slap, it doesn’t come. It does, however, wait until I have unclenched my jaw, hurling at the swelling flesh faster than the first one did. That one really does something to me because my neck can no longer hold my head up, I feel like a bobble head as the only thing keeping my eye connected to his is the hand fisted into the nape of my neck, gripping the hair there so tightly I’m surprised it hasn’t been ripped out of my head. He asks me again. 

My eyes refocus, taking longer than it did last time to make his facial features clear. I’m about to tell him to fuck off when I see something just past his right shoulder. About damn time. My eyes flicker back to his face with a knowing smirk back on mine and he looks behind him in time to see a bald man with bat wings drop down into the alley with us. He has tattoos scrawled over every inch of exposed skin and a simple wife beater on. “I didn’t get your signal, looks like I was right to drop in.” He says it casually, like he’s just a friend stopping by my apartment for lunch, giving no indication that we're actually in the middle of a back alley brawl. The ringing in my skull is still vacant as Eraser Head evades this winged man’s attacks. He must still be looking at me somehow, but it seems impossible while he’s bouncing around the tight space between two brick walls. I’m behind him. “Stay still!” My getaway yells at Eraser Head, as if telling him to do so would actually make it happen. That's when I see the mirror, one for trucks to see around corners, that's how he’s still looking at me. I can barely move, but I can still reach my pocket and pull a tiny silver marble out. I keep it there to play with when I can feel my anxiety rising. I roll it between my fingers for a moment, loving the way it glints off the sun and reflects the colors around it, then flick it straight towards the mirror. The battle in front of me doesn’t stop as they try to hit each other, both stellar at evasive maneuvers, but it comes to a spectacular halt as the glass shatters and I’m released from Eraser Head’s hold. My splitting headache tears through me again, but it doesn’t throw me off like it did before. I’m ready for it this time. 

Eraser drops to one knee, trying to push himself back up with the one arm on the ground below him. I lessen the frequency that I’m forcing into his brain and his shoulders relax a bit, not enough to let him stand, but enough that I know he’s paying attention to me now. I reach one hand out and push his long hair to the side, it's softer than I expected and there are small, loose curls here and there, mixed in with the overall weft of waves that tumble from his head. It’s beautiful. I lean down, pressing my body against his, my chest flush to his back and his shoulders tense up again, as if I’m hurting him. I run my fingers through the soft hair at the base of his neck again and press my lips to the side of his throat. “I can’t wait to see you again.” I breathe in one more time and drag my nails down the back of his neck, raising goosebumps, but now I actually do smell something. A slight scent of bergamot and… something else, faintly clinging to his neck. I thought he had no scent, but I was wrong and my nostrils flare. This man is hellbent on making me feral isn’t he? I let out a gravelly grunt from the back of my throat and instinctively sink my teeth into the skin playing at my lips, not hard enough to bleed, but leave a mark that will have people questioning what he does in his free time. 

When I pull away, the eyes of the bat man are focused on me, a pink twinge in his cheeks as if he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to. 

Lucky bastard. That bite was so hot. My dick is getting hard. 

I scowl at him and walk towards his side of the alley, hooking my elbow around his neck and the other around his torso, fastening myself to his side. “Fly.” One word is all I say, black wings stretching to the side and propelling us up. 

Fuck. We’re touching. Fuck. My dick. Fuck. 

Reproachful. 

He falters and I look down at the ground below us. Eraser Head is still gripping himself in pain, but one eye is open and glowing, stalling my getaway. We start to drop, losing momentum. I stare down at Eraser Head and scream into him so loud he falls over immediately, barely catching himself on the wall and vomiting profusely. Our elevation is lifted again as we proceed with the getaway. “Faster!” I scream over the pressurized wind in my ears. We fly past at least a dozen buildings before landing on a tall rooftop. I drop to my feet and push off from the bat as soon as I can. What a vile creature. I look out over the city, feeling the flash drive still in my jacket pocket with my fingers. I know his eyes are on me, that stupid fucking bat. I can hear him, feel him. You would think people would be more careful with their thoughts. 

Wow. That ass. I saved that ass. That ass owes me. Just a feel. 

I reach out and grab his wrist just before his clammy hand touches my soft flesh. Never looking away from the sun starting to ride low on the horizon. “You have terrible manners.” I say slow and matter of fact. I can feel the panic in him, I can practically see the bulging of his eyes. “If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you leave right now.” I let go of his wrist, still looking out peacefully. Neither of us move for a moment and I start to think he will leave, but alas. 

Rude bitch. You owe me!

He reaches out, foregoing my ass and grabbing my hip, trying to yank me back towards him, but instead I spin, grabbing his shoulder and tossing him off the side of the building. We both know he has wings, he can fly, he’s unharmed and a cocky grin pulls his lips apart showing off his teeth. He would be handsome if he wasn’t an absolute prick. He starts to launch for me again when a cocky grin of my own appears on my face. His drops and suddenly so does he as I rip his brain in two, I don’t even try to make it easy on him. I crank up the frequency so high I'm sure I’ve passed dog whistle territory. We’re so high up all I can do is watch him plummet, falling so quickly to the concrete below us you would think he’s a magnet. Then I think to myself, and make it happen. I magnetize him and the ground below the surface, he falls faster, hitting the ground like a meteor, creating a crater in the street so deep the ground shakes and pipes burst. People on the street start to look up and I take that as my cue to disappear. 

Thank you for reading! Hopefully you liked it? Enough to leave a note? Reblog? Comment?

lol anyways...

I will be updating this shortly, within the next couple of days. Thanks again!

CH3

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived - Chapter 13: An Interview

This is chapter 13 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo

Word count: 3436

Cw: stress, crying, discussions of limbo, lying, tension between characters

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The walk to the portal seemed longer than normal, perhaps due to the wails in the back of his mind. Every now and then they would quiet down, only for them to get worse again. He sighed quietly, “‘m going to Pogtopia.” 

Ghostbur tried to compose himself with little luck. Still, through his cries, he said, “Going where?” The words shook like a leaf in the wind but remained understandable. 

“Tubbo.” Although the words weren’t sharp, the meaning of them felt like it. He would’ve apologized, but he frankly didn’t have the energy to care.

Ghostbur sniffled, “Anything bad gonna happen?”

Wilbur shook his head before realizing Ghostbur couldn’t hear him, “Nope.” He barely thought of the response as he stepped onto the path made out of oak slabs.

The walk was quiet. Ghostbur seemed calmer with the promise of Tubbo, and Wilbur wasn’t in a chatty mood. The sound of footsteps filled his walk there.

The road to Pogtopia was ingrained in Wilbur’s muscle memory. While memories were muddled, the times he hid underground planning to take back L’Manberg seemed to remain stuck there. The buttons, calmly lining the walls more and more each day. The way they had appeared to taunt him, every single time he had a look.

It didn’t take long for Wilbur to make it there. The entrance to the ruins wasn’t too obvious to find, but Wilbur vaguely remembered that most people knew about it by now. As he entered and looked at the walls, he felt as if he’d wandered into an old movie that scared you as a child. Something from a past life. The ceiling that went up high, but still wasn’t enough. The remains of glory, and the times he’d wanted to shout at nothing until he finally told himself that it was fine. Wilbur was a genius and a powerful commander, and he wasn’t going to let everything get whisked away. He would get it all back, or no one else would have it.

His L’Manberg waiting for Wilbur to decide its final fate, despite the protests of its remaining people.

Now, Wilbur looked at the dusty paths that looked almost unused now, safe for a few visible footsteps, as if the place was used as nothing but a place to merely pass through once a month. The buttons that every inch of Wilbur’s fingers were tempted to touch, just to feel the way they clicked under his command. He breathed the old air into his lungs, and while it had been ages, it still reached his heart and trapped it in a familiar cage momentarily. It all appeared much smaller now or perhaps haunted by the words, the promises, and the betrayals. Haunted by the time, all of Wilbur’s suspicions had been confirmed, because loyalty was thin, and everyone was only looking out for their own self-interest. He was reminded of Tommy’s anger as they confronted Techno after the festival. Exactly as he predicted, and now everyone had to see it as well. His own laughter from long ago rang through his mind. 

“Hey there, big man!” Tubbo’s voice cut Wilbur out of the undesired nostalgic trance.

Ghostbur gasped, “Tubbo! Is Michael with him?” Wilbur turned and saw the boy standing there, looking at Wilbur expectantly. “Oh, there you are. I’m guessing Michael’s at home with Ranboo.” Wilbur said. Ghostbur’s passive acknowledgment echoed through his mind. He chuckled, “This place has really let itself go, huh?”

“Ah, a bit.” Tubbo said with a shrug, his tone remaining friendly as ever, “People don’t use it for much anymore, but some people stop by or keep some things here I think.”

Wilbur hummed, “You know, I almost didn’t expect it to still be standing at all.”

Tubbo laughed, “Yeah, that’s pretty impressive.”

Wilbur took another look at the path ahead of them and then turned to Tubbo again. “What did you want me for again?”

“Oh, right!” Tubbo said with a quick nod. He gestured towards the paths, “Follow me.” he said, and started walking.

Wilbur resisted the urge to laugh, though the cage only allowed a huff, “That’s a little suspicious, Tubster.” he added the next words in an overexaggerated tone, “Just follow me into this abandoned place! Come alone!”

Tubbo laughed, “To be fair, I didn’t necessarily ask you to come alone.” He bit his lip, and looked as if he pondered something, “I just… Uhm, I wanted to show you something I’ve been working on.”

Curiosity filled Wilbur’s mind. Had Tubbo really been planning to fix up Pogtopia? To make a new nation now that his leader was back? The thought put a smile on his face, “Ooo, do tell.”

Tubbo seemed slightly tense after Wilbur’s intrigue, “I mean, it’s not really anything too great. More like a side project.

“You really have to stop being so humble!” Wilbur put an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, ignoring the way Tubbo jumped at the action, moving him slightly closer. “You’ve always been doing great things since the day I met you.”

Tubbo slightly untensed at the praise, but his words still seemed stiff, “No no, it’s really nothing. I don’t want you to get hyped then be disappointed.” They made a turn to the right, going to where Tubbo’s previous bunker was. They crossed over the brief patch of dark oak wood on the floor as they both walked into the room.

“You’ve got too high expectations of yourself, I’m sure it’s great.” Tubbo narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips slightly, but didn’t make any other comment. They walked up the stairs and while the room was mostly the same, there were certainly new renovations. Two chairs, a table, and a large bookshelf that seemed half-full. “What are the books about?”

Confusion came across Tubbo’s face before he realized what Wilbur was talking about, “Oh! So the thing is, I’ve been writing some history books. Figured they would be helpful to anyone new coming here.”

Wilbur exclaimed, “That’s great! People will get to know how great L’Manberg was and the valiant wars we fought. Tubbo, this whole thing is a great idea.”

Apprehension clouded Tubbo’s eyes, causing Wilbur’s grin to drop slightly. Neither of them said anything about it though. Instead, Tubbo spoke hesitantly, “Okay, so the main thing I wanted your help with is… See, I need some recounts to write some books about history, and what we know about things. The whole revival stuff is pretty new to most of us so… I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions about it?”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, and let out a breath. “Oh.” he said, hesitating, “Of course. Sure! Why not.”

“Great!” Tubbo said, almost looking a little surprised at the answer, “You can sit there.” He pointed to one of the chairs Wilbur noticed earlier. He sat down as Tubbo riffled through a barrel. Moments passed before Tubbo came back with a book and quill. 

“Alright, let’s start at the beginning. What do you remember from being revived?” Tubbo sat down in the other chair, opening the book to the first page.

“Wow. That’s a big question.” Wilbur thought for a moment, “I was in limbo and I saw this train coming.”

Tubbo stopped him, “What does limbo look like?”

Wilbur thought it was obvious what limbo looked like, but he spent thirteen and a half years in that place, and the boy in front of him probably never thought about that horrible place. “Well, to me, it’s this train platform. Hm- it was somewhat of a subway station, but trains pulled in, not subways.” Tubbo nodded as he wrote the information down.

“No matter where I looked, no matter where I went. Just concrete walls all around. And a tube with a track running straight along. But- it didn’t matter what I did. I could claw at the walls, bash on the doors, scream for help.” Wilbur let out a melancholic chuckle as his eyes watered, “I screamed ‘till my lungs were sore and my voice was hoarse.”

Wilbur momentarily wiped the tears out of his eyes, glad Tubbo was looking at his book and not him. “Nothing ever changes, nothing ever comes, nothing ever helps you, Tubbo.” Wilbur took a shaky breath as he ran a hand through his hair.

Tubbo nodded, his voice remaining neutral and focused, “You said trains pull in? Did you ever try to get on them?”

Wilbur nodded vaguely, “Only three trains came in. The first pulled away before I even realized it was there, but Tommy was on it! And it was great! But then- he got on a train and left. I couldn’t even move when I saw it, I felt paralyzed. Somehow I knew the train was Tommy’s even though I deserved to get on there.” Bitterness took the end of Wilbur’s voice, but Tubbo didn’t say anything about it. 

Instead, he hummed in acknowledgment, “What did the train look like? Was there anything unusual about it?”

Wilbur tilted the chair back slightly, looking at the ceiling, “I don’t think so? I couldn’t see it very well, I got too euphoric about the idea that I didn’t pay attention. The inside of the train was made out of dark oak. The seats were a dark green- sort of like a forest green.”

“And you got on the third train or a different one?”

“The third one, it’s the only one I could get on. When I saw the train pulling in, I was so thrilled. I could barely even feel my legs as I ran there. There was this weird guy though. When the train stopped, he was thrown on the ground. I saw two people including the weird one on that train. The weird one was a desaturated me. Just rolling into my town! Just browsing in by my limbo.”

Wilbur exhaled, the feeling of being alive coursing through him once again, “It’s weird, his face was steaming with tears. T-They looked like they were burning him?” 

Although he didn’t mean to ask the question, Ghostbur responded with quietness in his voice, “Yeah. I don’t like them very much.”

Wilbur sniffled, “But you know who else was on that train? The one conducting the train, the one who let me out, Tubbo.”

Tubbo momentarily looked up from his book, “Who?”

“Dream.” Although everyone said the masked man was horrible and deserved to rot in an obsidian prison for the rest of his life, a grin slipped on his face when he said his name. “It was Dream. My hero, my fucking hero Dream, saved me!” Ghostbur’s breath hitched and Tubbo tensed. While Wilbur felt like he won the lottery of life. His chest heaved as he continued, “Oh my that decade of waiting, I thought I wanted to die. I thought I wanted to die all those years ago, but now I’ve seen what hell is! Now I’ve seen the other side. I’ve been given a new lease on life! There’s so many things I’m going to do, there’s so many great things, I can’t even begin to describe them.” While Wilbur’s face was beaming with happiness, Tubbo’s showed a worry that gently shook in the silence between them. 

Words were escaping Wilbur almost on instinct, and perhaps he shouldn’t have said as much as he said, but if Tubbo wanted knowledge, knowledge should be shared. And in a sense, saying it all out loud served as a reminder. That perhaps Wilbur’s fragile connections didn’t matter much in the end, because the euphoria of being alive still lingered in his chest.

Tubbo looked back down at his book, scribbling some things for a few moments, flipping the page. “Are there- alright- sorry, one second.” Tubbo took a shaky breath, putting down the quill for a moment. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his eyes. After a few seconds passed, Tubbo sat normally. Wilbur slightly wilted at the beginnings of tears in Tubbo’s eyes, but he didn’t bother to say anything about it. Especially when he only momentarily met Wilbur’s gaze, focusing right back onto the book. 

Tubbo inhaled slowly as he fiddled with the page, “Are there any side effects to you coming back? Like- does anything feel different?” He looked towards the book with unsure eyes, but Wilbur shrugged it off. 

“Hm.” There was a fucking ghost in his head, that was a start. Not that he was going to say that. Perhaps an implication, but he wasn’t going to explain it fully. “I’m not really sure. I mean sometimes I think that Ghostbur, the desaturated me… is there with me in spirit if that makes sense?”

Tubbo furrowed his brow, but he remained focused on the book, “Elaborate please.”

“Well, I feel like he’s in my head a little bit. Like as if we’re sharing the same experiences, and he knows what I’m going through.”

Tubbo nodded bluntly stating, “So you’re experiencing a divide in identity. As if your body isn’t your own?”

Wilbur frantically shook his head, “No no, I still control my body. I still have my thoughts to myself. I just feel like Ghostbur’s still here in a way.” His shoulders untensed as he let out a breath. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to say or explain. The words had likely been far too risky in the first place. He’d gotten carried away. “It’s probably just because people talk about him sometimes, you know?”

Tubbo looked up from his book, skepticism filling his eyes, “Oh I gotcha.” He wrote something else down, but Wilbur felt like the boy didn’t understand what he was saying at all.

There was a confused sound in Wilbur’s mind. “But… I’m with you! Aren’t I?” the words came out with a strained melancholy, but Wilbur didn’t respond. 

“On the subject of Ghostbur, do you have any of his memories?” Tubbo asked, “He had some of yours after all.”

Wilbur inhaled through his nose. “Some,” he said shortly, thinking of the vague sensations, and the memories that felt as if he was trapped inside someone else. Trapped inside a cage, unable to do what he wanted. Yet, he didn’t have many. The most detailed ones weren't memories at all, but rather Ghostbur’s own words, provoking images that might’ve been real. “It’s all a bit vague still, but I do remember it. Almost like watching in the third person, or watching as your body moves without you.” As he said the words, he felt quick images flash by in his mind. Anger he couldn’t feel, and words that seemed far off. Watching the people he knew suffer, though he wasn’t sure who or why, and perhaps it didn’t matter. 

“Any specific events?” Tubbo asked.

While the memories were right at the tip of his tongue, there was very little he could recall directly. Though Ghostbur had filled him in at least a little bit, so he should account for that. “They’re not that specific but I feel as if some of them are coming back.” Wilbur said, “I remember the sheep thing. Who was it, Friend?” he let out a quick laugh.

Tubbo nodded and wrote something down again. “I see.” 

There was silence for a bit before Wilbur broke in. “Have you asked Tommy about this whole revival business? He went through it as well after all, and didn’t spend quite as long as I did in limbo.”

Tubbo tensed up. “Ah, a bit.” his professional tone wavered, “He uh… He’s not too fond of talking about it as of now. So, he prefers it when people don’t ask.” he smiled hesitantly, though the boy clearly looked troubled.

“Oh,” Wilbur said quietly. For a brief moment, he recalled the fearful anger in Tommy’s eyes from earlier, but he quickly let the thought dissolve.

“How long did you spend in limbo, again?” Tubbo asked.

“Thirteen and a half years.” Wilbur answered without any hesitation, “I counted the days,”

“How exactly did you do that? Could you see the sun?”

“There was a clock.” Wilbur responded briefly, “I couldn’t see what day it was but I could see the hours. I could feel it. And there was a faint light somewhere in the distance I could never quite reach.” He remembered it clearly, as he watched hours pass. Days upon days, months upon months.

“Okay.” Tubbo said with a nod, “Tommy said two months in limbo were two days here. I’m not sure if it’s still accurate for yours since I can’t really do the math right now, but it could vaguely be a limbo month equals a real day here.”

Wilbur almost pointed out that limbo was real and it was realer than anything Tubbo had ever experienced, but he only squinted as he tried to think. “I think that’s true.” he said, “Tommy mentioned his limbo was just a black void, but I did let him know much time had passed.”

It would be beneficial for Wilbur to know exactly how time passed differently. Perhaps it would help him when he communicated with Ghostbur, or when he tried to find a way to separate them. Then again, the thought of the passage of time, and the lengthy silence Ghostbur experienced, made Wilbur yearn to think of something else, whenever the thought passed his mind. “If you somehow learn anything else I…” he paused, “Tell me. I’m curious,” he said, his mouth curving up. Information. He needed more information, to fix all of it.

Tubbo looked at Wilbur for a little while, before nodding. “Of course.” he said, “Anything else you want to add?”

“Nope, I think that covers all of it,” Wilbur said, unsure what else there was to say.

“I’m here! We can talk and everything. That might be relevant!”

Tubbo wrote a few more lines in the book, “Great! Thanks, big man.” He closed it, putting it in a chest nearby. Wilbur got up and skimmed the bookshelf sleeves. There were quite a decent amount of books. They seemed to be chronological as well. Well- as chronological as they could be. Some of the books on the bottom shelf all seemed to be about science rather than history with titles like, “Hybrids” and “The End”. Wilbur heard ages ago it was some sort of other dimension that was similar to the Nether but had a dragon and creatures that made you float if they hit you. It was probably less scientific than the other books, filled with legended fables and short stories since as far as he knew, the End was only a fairytale world Phil told him about as a kid to help him sleep. 

The shelf above had the names of all the wars they’d been through, with some of them being long enough for two books. Now that he looked at it, all the books seemed to be around four hundred pages. Wilbur let out a surprised noise, causing Tubbo to look over.

He walked to where Wilbur was standing, “Everything alright?”

Wilbur nodded, “I was just looking at all the books you’ve got. Are all of them full?”

Tubbo looked bashfully, despite the proud look in his eyes, “I mean, some more than others, but in general, I just write any information I can find. A lot of the originals were destroyed a while back, so they’re a bit incomplete. Interviews fill up most of it.”

Wilbur’s eyes focused on a book that stood at the end of the middle shelf, titled, ‘The Destruction of L’Manberg’. Wilbur pointed to the book that grabbed most of his attention. He caught a smile across his own face  “Can I read a bit?” He asked, glancing at Tubbo, “I know it’s a bit macabre but… You know that morbid fascination with what people would say about you after you’re dead? I just wanna know what people thought after everything I did.”

Tubbo seemed hesitant but nodded anyway. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” He walked downstairs, and as soon as Wilbur couldn’t see him anymore, he felt an odd sense of relief. Information was an old comfort to him. The side that won the war always had more information. Knowing what the other side had for breakfast was almost just as important as finalizing your battle plans. And in truth, the idea of obituaries or requiems from his enemies was something that made him want to laugh.

And now, with so much knowledge in front of him, he grabbed the book that lingered in his mind.